


Guilty as Sin

by niteryde



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blood and Violence, Crime Fighting, Detectives, F/M, Gun Violence, Romance, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niteryde/pseuds/niteryde
Summary: Bulma is West City's best detective, trying to find the violent vigilante that is causing mayhem all over West City. She learns, to her chagrin, that he's the same man she had a one night stand with just a couple of weeks prior. All human AU, BV, inspired by Marvel's Daredevil & The Punisher.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Son Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 106
Kudos: 167





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Culpable como el pecado](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910138) by [chicamarioneta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicamarioneta/pseuds/chicamarioneta)



> A/N: I wanted to do something different, and I've never tried an all-human AU! In any case, I'm a huge sucker for the Marvel universe. This isn't a crossover, but it is inspired by Daredevil & The Punisher Netflix series. You do not need to have watched those shows to follow along here. Thank you for reading!

After a long and tough day at work, the only thing Bulma wanted was a strong drink; the stronger, the better.

She sighed as she got into the driver's seat of her black car, practically slamming the door behind her. Reaching down the side of the seat, she pulled out her cell phone, seeing a few missed calls from her now ex-boyfriend, Yamcha. The problem was always the same between them – she spent too many hours at the office, and they couldn't see each other enough for what he needed from the relationship. On again and off again for years, she had finally ripped the bandaid off the day before. She was the best detective in the city, hands down – with a natural thirst for adventure and danger, and a brilliant mind to figure out the hardest of cases, she was the epitome of success. Unfortunately, that same success in her career made it hard to give Yamcha the time and attention he needed, and so she was done. She needed a stronger man to stand by her side, someone who wouldn't ask her to sacrifice her career, someone who could just... _understand_.

Still, she couldn't help but feel upset over the breakup. Compounded with a frustrating day at work that involved more paperwork than field work, Bulma was not in a good mood. She glared at the phone, before tossing it in the passenger seat, refusing to play the game with Yamcha any longer as she started up her car.

It was already dark by the time she got back to her apartment. Out of habit, she took off her badge and gun and left both on the counter along with her cell phone as she went to the fridge to check for a beer.

Her cell phone rang again, adding to her disappointment when she realized she was out of all alcoholic beverages. Closing the fridge door, she snatched up her phone, seeing a new text appear.

_Hey B, just want to see if we can talk about last night. Please let me know._

Bulma rolled her eyes. She put her phone in her pocket and snatched up her gun, leaving her badge behind as she left the apartment. If she was out of beer, then she would just have to walk over to the neighborhood bar for a much-needed drink and some downtime. It was a shame that Goku and the rest of the guys were already preoccupied. She briefly considered reaching out to Chi-Chi, but figured it was probably too late for her to come out. Her friend kept school hours after all, with their young son Gohan in the house.

Once she entered the bar, Bulma tightened her brown leather jacket around herself as she instinctively surveyed to see who was there. It was her first time there, since she usually only popped into the bar by the police station, but it didn't seem too bad. It wasn't crowded, but it wasn't empty either, no one was being obnoxious, and the music wasn't too loud. It would do just fine.

She took a seat at the bar and the bartender immediately came over, some new guy she'd never seen before. The perks, she supposed, of being as gorgeous as she was – she rarely had to wait for a drink.

"The strongest thing you've got."

"Got a rum that'll rock you, so long as you ain't driving home."

"Awesome, let's do it," she said, reaching up to let her hair down as the bartender walked away. She shook her head a little as her blue curls were loosened, glancing up at the TV above them showing the latest sports game. She frowned, reminded of her baseball player ex-boyfriend.

"Hey there gorgeous," a male voice cut in from behind. "You drinking alone?"

Bulma resisted a groan as she rolled her eyes. Couldn't a woman just enjoy a drink in peace after a long day at work?

"Get lost," she replied, sounding bored. The bartender came back with her drink which she eagerly took.

"Well that's not very nice," the man snickered, coming up and taking a seat next to her. Bulma looked over and took him in. He was probably about her age, with dirty blond hair, and a smile that promised mischief. He wasn't necessarily bad looking; but unfortunately for him, he reminded her of Yamcha.

"Not interested, bud," she said with authority, hoping that would be the end of it.

His tone stopped being friendly as he leaned closer to her. "You shouldn't be so quick to judge, you know. I'm not some kind of creep. My name is Tony, and I know how to treat a lady right-"

A heavy and strong hand landed on his shoulder then, startling him and Bulma as they looked back over their shoulders. A man was standing behind them with spiked black hair, eyeing her blond would-be suitor with the most intense dark gaze Bulma had ever seen - and she had seen plenty in her day.

"She said she wasn't interested," he sneered. There was a danger to his voice that made Tony lean away from both him and Bulma.

"Right, right, sorry," the blond stammered out. He picked up his drink and left the seat in a hurry.

Bulma watched him scurry away, before turning her attention to the man who was now coming up to the bar. She expected him to take a seat where Tony had been, and make his move now – men were predictable, after all. She blinked though when he didn't even look at her, instead telling the bartender he wanted another round of the same drink he already had.

The bartender nodded and went to get him a beer. When he was gone, Bulma broke their silence first.

"I didn't need you to save me."

"Who said I was?" the stranger gruffly asked, still avoiding looking at her. "That guy's just an asshole. Besides, you're carrying anyway, aren't you?"

Bulma couldn't hide her surprise that he knew about her concealed gun holster. She studied his profile carefully, but he was looking down as he pulled out a few bills from his pocket. He tossed them on the bar, and took his beer from the bartender. Without another word or glance her way, he walked out the back where they had more tables and seats outside.

She didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first man in years that had talked to her in a bar without hitting on her. Maybe it was that he knew she was armed, which no one without a trained eye would have known. Maybe it was the strong jaw line and his intense dark eyes, which drove out the thoughts of her ex-boyfriend for the first time all day. Whatever it was, her interest was piqued. She stood and also threw down some bills on the bar, grabbed her drink, then followed after him, going outside.

There was no one else out in the back, most of the picnic tables deserted on the grass, except for one. The stranger was sitting on top of a picnic table, his back to her. He was wearing a black leather jacket, but the position he was in was drawing the jacket up enough for her to see a hint of the gun that he had tucked in the back of his jeans. One leg was drawn up, his forearm resting on it as he stared up at the stars. She stared at him for a moment, deep down telling herself to turn and go back inside.

Instead, Bulma joined him moments later, hoisting herself up at the top of the table so she was sitting next to him. It was only then that he finally turned his full gaze on her, and she swallowed when he did. She had been able to tell he had an intense gaze before, but now that it was fully on her, it briefly took her breath away. He had a hard look about him, borderline threatening, and yet she found him appealing in the most dangerous of ways. His dark eyes were piercing as he scrutinized her blue eyes, both of them silently taking each other in.

It took a few seconds before Bulma noticed that he had a lit cigarette between the fingers of one hand.

"Got a smoke?" she finally asked, breaking their tense silence.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he looked away. He put his beer from one hand down, put the cigarette in his other hand up to his lips, then reached into the pocket of his jacket. Producing a pack of cigarettes, he took one out and offered it to her. Bulma took it and put it between her lips, staring at him expectantly. Without breaking his intense eye contact, he took out a lighter and brought it up in front of her face, lighting her cigarette for her. Bulma swallowed again, her intrigue growing.

They both looked away at the same time as she took a draw, then exhaled into the night.

"Nice night," she commented absently. The man next to her was silent, so she went for it. "So, are you a cop or a veteran?"

He looked down and chuckled, taking the cigarette out and exhaling through his nose. "Why do you think I can only fall into one of those buckets?"

"I pay attention."

"Do tell."

"Am I wrong?" she challenged. He studied her briefly out of the corner of his eye, before looking away again.

"Marine, served 6 years," he finally admitted.

"Nice."

He took a long draw from his cigarette, before looking up at the stars. "Not exactly," he grumbled.

"Sore subject? Sorry," she apologized sincerely. He again stayed silent, a scowl on his face as he looked back down with a brooding look. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she went back to basics. "My name is Bulma. What's yours, mysterious stranger?"

"Victor," he gruffly answered, looking away again.

"So what brings you out here on this lovely evening, Victor?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Just wanted to wallow in my pain for a little while," she said, only half-joking.

"Is the life of a cop that hard?" he asked, drawing her sudden attention as her eyes widened in surprise. He smirked knowingly, his attention directly on her now.

"How'd you guess that?"

"I pay attention too," he drawled in a tone that gave her chills, and not in an unpleasant way. His dark eyes were scanning over her, lingering on her hair, then lowering down. At the look of suspicion on her face, he snickered. "I know someone who's a cop. He mentioned you once. I only know because of the hair color."

He kept to himself that the cop he knew had suggested that he would probably find Bulma extremely attractive if they were to ever meet. Needless to say, the fool was right. He found her eyes to be stunning. It wasn't how he had expected his night to go, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Oh yeah? Who do you know in the force?" Bulma pressed.

"You're the detective. I'm surprised you haven't already figured it out."

"Oh I will soon, don't you worry buddy," she said with determination. He looked away, but he couldn't help his smirk of amusement. She certainly had spirit.

"Have fun with that," he said just as her cell phone went off. She instantly silenced it without even looking at it, grumbling under her breath as she did. He took a draw of the cigarette and then scowled as he exhaled.

"Someone waiting for you at home?" he asked, his voice calm and neutral.

"Not anymore," she admitted. A few moments of silence passed as they both took a drink, before she ventured, "What about you? You have someone waiting for you?"

"I wouldn't be here if I did."

"You could be lying," she challenged.

He shrugged. "I could be. But I'm not. Up to you if you want to believe me."

They made eye contact again, studying each other. His eyes dropped to her lips, which made her swallow heavily. She did believe him, for some unexplained reason. More tense silence passed as they continued staring at each other. He didn't miss her slightly quickened breathing, and she didn't miss how he was unconsciously leaning in closer to her.

"I should probably go," Bulma finally said, breathlessly. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding as he looked away and nodded, his gaze turning upwards again. She hopped off the table and looked at him for a moment. "Will you walk with me?" she asked, making him look back at her in open surprise. She resisted the urge to smile – his unguarded look was almost endearing.

He hesitated momentarily, scowling now. "It's not like you need protection," he gruffly said, looking at her suspiciously.

"I don't," she agreed. "But I like your company, and a walk would be nice, don't you think, Victor?"

His nose twitched at the use of the name. He looked down, taking a slow draw of his cigarette, while Bulma bit her bottom lip. Truly, she had no idea what had gotten into her, but she was drawn to this mysterious stranger, and didn't want their evening to end just yet. She watched him expectantly, not knowing if he was going to take her up on her invitation, which was a first for her. She was not used to being turned down.

Finally, he exhaled and put out the cigarette on the table. "Alright," he conceded.

He then hopped off as well, buying his hands in his jacket pockets as he looked at her. Bulma offered him a smile, and then they walked together, the half mile back to her apartment. The whole time they walked in silence, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. He stayed close to her, walking on the side closest to the street as they moved to the residential area.

And then they were at the apartment building entrance. She turned to face him as he studied the building, before he settled his dark eyes on hers. They were close to each other now, and she felt the urge to be closer, but the man before her was impossible to read at the moment. She would have given her yearly salary to see just what he was thinking.

"So is this the part where you disappear into the night?" she chuckled.

His stare was intense as he stayed silent for a few long moments, before he stepped up closer to her.

"Only if you want me to."

Bulma hesitated. "I don't really make a habit of this, you know."

"Neither do I."

She hesitated only a moment longer before she reached out, lightly tugging on his jacket. He took the invitation immediately, stepping up close to her, one hand going up to her face. His heart was pounding in his chest. He already knew he would regret this later, but his sanity had vanished with her small innocent tug on his jacket. She was gorgeous, and he wanted a taste as he brought his lips down to hers.

She had no reason to trust him. She didn't even really know him. All she could think about was how good he tasted. Bulma timidly reached up to his face as he kissed her, her worries gone over the fact that he was a stranger. If anything, it only added to the excitement of it all. She moaned a little as he pulled her tighter against him, his tongue and his breath and his hands dominating all rational thought as they both deepened the kiss. She could feel the strength in his hands as he settled them on her lower back, and it almost made her weak in the knees.

She was breathless when she pulled away. He was breathless as well, his dark eyes curious as he moved his hands to her hips.

"Do you want to come up?" she whispered, her lips still hovering over his.

He hesitated only for a moment, before nodding slowly. Bulma gave him a smile that would have made him follow her into hell if she'd wanted. She took his hand and led the way, and then they both disappeared into the building.


	2. Vigilante Justice

Bulma had a mug of coffee in one hand, a newspaper in the other. The lights in the police station seemed obnoxiously bright compared with the darkness outside, but it did well to keep her alert despite her fatigue. Her blue eyes were narrowed in concentration as she analyzed the front page of the day's newspaper. It was never ideal to allow the media to interfere with good detective work; however, it was helpful to keep a finger on the pulse of what information was being fed to the public. She exhaled slowly through her nose as she read:

_VIGILANTE VIOLENCE CONTINUES IN WEST CITY – The violence tormenting West City continues into its second week as WCPD continues their search for the culprits who are taking the law into their own hands. Four career criminals were found dead yesterday evening at The Jazz, a dance club in the downtown area. There was a note left behind which made mention of notorious businessman Frieza Cold, who last year was accused of leading violent mobster activity –_

"Bulma? You still in?"

Bulma put down the newspaper, surprised when Goku rounded the corner. He was dressed in a black police uniform, not having earned the rank of detective despite having more time on the force than she did. The lack of advancement was due to general disinterest. Whereas Bulma much preferred the mental challenge of solving crimes, Goku loved the more physical aspect of being a police officer. He got a thrill out of literally chasing the violent bad guys down, and using his fighting skills when situations escalated, refusing to ever use his taser, much less his gun. And in a town that was highly active with gang activity, he was always kept busy – which was just how he liked it.

"Yep," she answered, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Surprised you're still here though," she teased, raising her mug for a much-needed caffeine hit.

"Yeah," he chuckled as he walked over to her desk. "I'm running my monthly martial arts class tonight, so figured I'd just go straight from work, since it's closer to work than home."

"Oh right," Bulma said with enthusiasm. She leaned back a little and took another sip of coffee. "How's that going anyway?"

"It's great," Goku said with a wide grin as he hoisted himself up so he was sitting on her desk. "It's so good for the vets to come in and blow off some steam in a good way. Channel all of that emotion positively, you know?"

"Hmm…" Bulma quietly turned back to her work computer at the thought of veterans. Her mind briefly wandered to the man she had met a couple of weeks prior, and her brow furrowed. "You know, when you were in the Marines…" she started, before pausing and shaking her head. "Actually, never mind."

"What?" he asked, half-amused and half-intrigued. "Now you have to tell me."

"I was just going to ask if you knew someone who also served, but what are the odds, you know? The Marine Corps isn't exactly small."

"Won't know unless you ask," he teased. "Try me, I have a lot of friends who served with me. Plus a lot of vets come to my class too. Maybe I know who you're thinking about."

"Well…I met a guy a couple weeks ago…" she started, looking at her computer.

She bit her bottom lip as images flashed in her mind – _her hand caressing that strong jaw line as he leaned over her, his intense dark eyes drinking her in as he slowly undressed her, his strong, rough, manly hands on her lower back as he pulled her on top of him while he was still hard inside her_ –

Bulma blinked and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Victor, the mysterious stranger from the neighborhood bar, had vanished by the time she woke the next morning. Still, he crossed her mind at least once a day – more, if she stayed at home with nothing to occupy her thoughts. Hence her long hours.

"He said his name was Victor," Bulma continued, looking back at Goku in curiosity. She didn't know why she was even bothering; she hadn't even gone back to the bar to look for him again, and was content for it to be a one night stand. Still, she was a detective and curiosity drove her to try her luck with Goku – what else did she have to lose? She frowned thoughtfully. "He served 6 years. He was about an inch taller than me. Really intense look about him…he had these dark eyes that were just…like he could see through you, you know? He had black hair, spiked up. He also had a tattoo sleeve on his left arm, going up over his shoulder a little on his back. It was a dragon tattoo."

"Huh," Goku mumbled. The usual easygoing smile was gone, a serious look on his face now. He sucked at his front teeth a little with his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, it doesn't ring a bell. But if a guy named Victor comes into our class with a tat like that, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Thanks, Goku, but it doesn't really matter to me anyway," Bulma dismissively said, not wanting to venture further into the topic. Her estranged boyfriend was close with Goku, after all, and the less she thought of the mysterious stranger, the better. "I have enough on my plate," she sighed, gesturing to the newspaper for him to take a look at. Goku leaned over to look at the headline while she took another drink of her coffee.

"Media's on it now, eh?" he asked, unsurprised. "Whoever's doing this is getting everyone all spun up. The murders are piling up."

"Yep. And guess who Chief put in charge of the investigation?" Bulma asked with a small grin.

"Well then this will be over soon!" he said with a bigger grin. "You got any leads?"

A thoughtful look came on her face. "I'm working a few. Get this, though. The newspaper is saying it's multiple people doing this, but everything I'm getting from my sources is pointing to just one person being behind all this."

"One person?" he cried out, his eyes wide. He then snorted in mild disbelief. "You really think one person would be that nuts to go after Frieza's guys like that?"

Bulma pursed her lips. They had been after Frieza for _years,_ knowing that he was at the heart of the violence in West City. Unfortunately, he had many corrupt politicians, judges, and police officers in his pocket, and seemingly endless resources with his millions of dollars as a "businessman". Trying to nail him was looking like a career-long endeavor. Still, the violence currently targeting Frieza's men was shocking to everyone in the department; it was a bold and violent strategy that could only be done outside of the law.

"That's what the path is leading to, but I only got the case a few days ago, so I'm still trying to figure it out. But I will definitely figure it out," she swore with determination. The violent men that worked for Frieza were now slowly meeting an even more violent end, at the hands of some mysterious vigilante. It didn't matter if she believed deep down that they deserved it. She represented the law, and she could not condone any vigilante justice; she would end it, just like she always ended the run of bad guys when she put her mind to it.

Goku smiled and nodded. "Yeah well, just don't forget to get some sleep once in a while." He took a glance over at the clock, and then hopped off her desk. "Well, I ought to get going, or I'll be late for my own class. Gotta pay the bills after all!"

Bulma smirked, amused. "You could move up to detective and make more money that way."

"Nahhh," he said with a playful grin. "I do what I do, and you do what you do. Catch you later!" he waved, heading to the elevator.

"See ya."

* * *

Vegeta took in a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly, steadying his body and specifically his hands as he held his finger gently on the trigger of his sniper rifle. He was sprawled out on his stomach on a rooftop close to the edge, one eye closed as he carefully aimed through his scope. The concrete on top of the building was cold and damp that night, but he didn't notice through his body armor and his black hoodie he wore over that. His sleeves were pushed up to his forearm, just enough to show off the beginning of a dragon tattoo sleeve that ran up his left arm. Others would have probably made sure to cover it, not wanting to be recognized – but he was alone on the rooftop, and the street was silent beneath him. Vegeta's rifle moved an infinitesimal amount with his breaths, but that was just fine – he wasn't ready to fire just yet. For now, he was merely observing.

Lights turned on in the abandoned bar across the street now, drawing his attention. A group of tough-looking gangsters started trickling into the bar, from the back to avoid being seen on the street. He couldn't see their faces clearly from the angle he had, unless they came closer to the glass. Vegeta scowled, his crosshairs hovering over the glass window, as he slowly took the gun off safety with a _click_. He had prepared ahead of time. Through the scope of his rifle, he could see the subtle explosive device he had planted in the bar earlier that day, though he doubted any of them would notice it, unless they looked for it. They also would never find the listening bug he had planted either.

The audio ear piece he had tucked in his ear suddenly whirred to life with the activity in the bar. Vegeta's finger gently squeezed the trigger and then his whole body held steady as stone, ready to fire. He then waited, and listened.

"That's ten guys in two weeks, shot dead!"

"And there were two guys who were beaten by what looks like someone's bare hands, remember?"

"What's Frieza saying?"

"Lieutenants are running with it, captain orders from Zarbon. They want whoever is responsible found and brought in alive, all of them. It's up to us at the street level to handle it."

"People are saying it's just one guy."

"I don't believe that. No fucking way."

"Who are we thinking it could be?"

"Someone with access to military grade weapons."

"Lieutenant orders are to investigate every killing over the last year, and look into surviving family members." Vegeta's scowl deepened at that, his teeth grinding together. "It's a goddamn vigilante, and it has revenge written all over it. Maybe if we look into the family members, we may find something-"

Vegeta suddenly squeezed the trigger all the way, firing one well aimed shot that broke through the glass before the word was finished.

A heartbeat later, the bar exploded, the windows shattering and flames engulfing the building. He opened both eyes then and surveyed the violence below for a couple of seconds with a frown, and then withdrew in silence.

Down below, one of Frieza's young soldiers named Cui had been standing outside the back of the bar relieving himself while everyone else had gone on inside for the meeting. He was just zipping up, when the bar suddenly exploded. He was far enough away that he wasn't injured, but he was still close enough that it knocked him roughly to the ground.

In shock and out of sheer self preservation, Cui scurried as far away from the building as he could manage. He dove into a ground level window that was left open in the next building, roughly dropping into what looked like an old basement. A quick glance around told him he was alone in the basement, which was good – still, he took out his handgun just in case. He quietly closed the dirty window he had fallen through, and then looked out through it.

Just as he closed it, a man quickly rounded the back of the bar that was on fire, holding a rifle. He had it aimed up directly in front of him, the rear of the weapon wedged firmly against his shoulder as he made sure the space was clear. Just from his smooth movements, Cui knew he had military expertise. He couldn't make out who he was from the window, but he could see that he had dark hair that was standing straight up like a flame. With flames in the background, the mystery man looked like a demon. Cui gulped, knowing it was the vigilante that had been giving them hell.

Vegeta surveyed the back alley behind the bar, sweeping the area with his rifle for a potential survivor. He turned his gun to the building behind the alley in suspicion, making Cui duck out of sight from the window, when a man suddenly burst through the inferno caused by his explosion. Vegeta spun back to to him, but the man was screaming, his clothes on fire.

Vegeta watched this man as he dropped on the ground and rolled around to put out the flames while he screamed in pain. His nose twitched, but otherwise he made no move for several long moments, letting the fire burn the man. When it became clear that the man rolling on the ground was about to put the flames out, Vegeta finally raised his gun. With no hesitation or remorse, he aimed at the man's head and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot seemed to echo in the night, and the screaming was silenced.

* * *

Soaked in sweat, Goku discarded his drenched tank top and sat down heavily on a bench. The light wasn't strong in the basement of the church he was in, but it was perfect to run his monthly class. All they needed were the mats anyways in the make-shift gym. He was an expert in several different martial arts, and combined with his veteran status and word of mouth, he had a decent crowd that came now to his classes. It filled him with a deep satisfaction, being able to provide a good environment for fellow veterans to release their stress. He also loved the physical aspect of it, and found it kept him sharp for his own work.

His cell phone then vibrated with a text as he was removing his wrist tape. Goku snatched it up, and then frowned when he saw the text from Krillin.

_Heads up Goku. Another incident, north end. Another 11 down. I just let Bulma know._

"Bit of a shithole to run a class in, don't you think?" a gruff voice asked in amusement.

Goku looked up from his phone. Across the mats on the floor, in the corner next to the door that led to the stairs outside, he could see a glimpse of a familiar man, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Vegeta's face was obscured by some shadows, as the dim lighting didn't fully reach into that corner, but Goku would have probably recognized the other man in pitch black darkness. Goku had bonded with many while he had served, both in the Marines and as a police officer, but nothing had the depth like the bond he had with Vegeta. They had forged their brotherhood in blood, war, and death, the two best their unit had to offer, unstoppable when they worked together. Goku had a real brother, and yet didn't learn the real meaning of the word until he served, and the man before him was a huge reason why.

"You're a couple hours late for the class tonight. Too bad. You could have helped me run it," Goku said casually, earning a snort of disdain from the other man.

"Who says I'd want to?"

"You tell me, _Victor._ "

Something changed in the way Vegeta was standing, a subtle shift, before he asked in a neutral voice, "She's mentioned me?"

"She just asked if I knew you."

There was a moment of silence that stretched uncomfortably long, until Vegeta curiously asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I didn't. If you gave Bulma a fake name, I figured it's because you weren't interested in seeing her again," Goku reasoned. Vegeta stayed silent at that, but Goku could see the way he tightened his arms across his chest. He sighed. "What is it, Vegeta?"

Vegeta shrugged and looked away. "You're always inviting me to this class shit you run. Maybe I just wanted to see the place for myself."

"You should definitely come, especially after…well, what happened," Goku said, frowning in concern. "How are you doing with all of that anyway? Are you alright? I've been trying to reach you since the funeral, but you've been tough to get a hold-"

"I'm fine, Kakarot," came the biting, ice-cold response.

Goku sighed. "You know you don't have to keep calling me by my call sign for the rest of my life, right?"

"I've been calling you that for almost a decade, can't expect me to change now."

"Well, you didn't come to talk about Bulma, or about what happened, so what did you need, Vegeta?"

"I had a question about what the police are going to do with the vigilante."

Goku raised his eyebrows. He paused for a moment, before standing and making his way over to the other man until they were face to face. Goku had a serious look on his face as he studied the dark and intense eyes of the man before him for some long moments.

"I think it's for the best that I don't answer anything about that," Goku finally said. Vegeta raised his chin slightly, easily holding the stare.

"Oh? And why is that?" he challenged.

Goku narrowed his eyes with an intense look that Vegeta recognized very well. It was the look he had worn every time they had embarked on dangerous missions together.

"You saved my life out there, you know. _Twice._ And I'll never, ever forget that. I owe you, forever. So because of that, I'll tell you this, Vegeta. It's only a matter of time before this vigilante, whoever that may be, is either arrested or killed…unless, he smartens up and quits while he's ahead. That'd be my advice to him. To quit and find a better way to channel his rage and grief, because once we identify him, if I ever come across him, I'll have to bring him down. I'd hate to do it, but I will do my job."

Vegeta's intense glare was unflinching. "Well, I wish you the best of luck if it comes to that, Kakarot. I have a feeling you will need it."

A heavy silence fell between the two men as they both studied the other, until Goku's phone vibrated in his hand. He frowned and looked down at it, seeing that it was a text from Bulma.

"Duty calls?" Vegeta deadpanned.

"It's a text from Bulma, she's on the latest vigilante crime scene," Goku said, not missing Vegeta's eye twitching at hearing her name. "I will tell you one thing about what we're doing. Bulma just got put in charge of the investigation to find who is doing this."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "Is that a fact?"

"It is, and she always figures it out, since she's our best detective. It's really only a matter of time."

"Well I wish her the best of luck as well," Vegeta drawled. He glanced at a clock on the wall and grunted. "It's always a pleasure, Kakarot, but I have other business to attend to." With that, he turned towards the door, but paused when Goku spoke again.

"Vegeta, please think about what I said," Goku said, concern on his face as he stared at Vegeta's back.

"You have your duty, Kakarot, and I have mine."

And then he was gone.


	3. An Eyewitness

Bulma cursed under her breath while shifting her car to park that night. The firefighters were already on the chaotic scene, the latest from the vigilante, and they seemed to have tamed down the inferno. The building that had once been an abandoned bar was still smoking though as the firefighters kept only a couple of hoses on at full force, other firefighters dashing about the firetrucks and police cars that were flashing their lights. She noted that the yellow crime scene tape was already being rolled out to section off the whole area.

That was her cue. It was time to go to work.

Bulma got out of her car, donning black body armor with large yellow letters on the front and back spelling WCPD. She walked up to the smoking building, ducking underneath the crime scene tape. She examined the building in front of her, what remained of it anyway, as Krillin jogged up to her. He was wearing matching body armor. He was to be her number two on the case.

"Bulma, you're here," he breathed out, relieved. "No rest for the wicked eh?"

"Not when this vigilante only strikes at night," she sighed, before turning her gaze to her junior detective. "So what have we got?"

"10 bodies inside from what we can tell of the remains, 1 out back," Krillin informed her, leading the way around the building towards the back alley. "We haven't ID'd anyone yet, but the guy out back was armed. Safe to assume the rest were too. I'd bet my kidneys it's Frieza's guys, but no confirmation yet."

"No need to bet any kidneys, Krillin, I'm pretty sure you're right," Bulma said, her tone grim as they rounded the back corner of the smoking building. There was a corpse in the back, laying on the ground and burnt beyond recognition. Bulma's nose crinkled a bit. "Man, this guy is ruthless," she commented idly.

"You think it's just one guy?" Krillin asked incredulously, as Bulma slowly walked around the dead body, scrutinizing the scene. "It seems more like a well-trained group to cause this much damage, don't you think?"

"One well-trained group, or one expert," Bulma whispered to herself. She squatted down, her blue eyes on a discarded shell casing, a gold piece of discarded metal among the mess of destroyed glass and brick on the ground. "Look at what we've got here. I'm guessing our friend here didn't die from the fire, and someone put him down for good. Make sure we get pictures and this gets bagged as evidence."

"Right," he agreed, squatting down next to her. "Man, you have eagle eyes. I didn't even notice this casing with all the debris out here."

"Remember, it's not enough to look, you have to see," she told him, frowning as she stared at the shell casing. "This type of caliber is a bit excessive if he shot the guy from this distance. This type of ammo is usually for military grade sniper rifles."

"I guess he didn't want him to get back up."

Bulma stood, glancing around at the buildings surrounding them, specifically their rooftops. "I want all adjacent buildings checked for entrances and exits, and I want to know if there are any cameras that may have recorded what happened here. Check the rooftops especially," she ordered.

"Will do," Krillin agreed, turning away as he paged in the orders.

Having surveyed things outside, Bulma decided it was time to bite the bullet and take a look at the situation inside. The firefighters had done their job and put out the flames, but the building was still emanating heat and was still smoking considerably. Bulma, though, had never been deterred by such things, and wasn't going to start that night. She entered into the abandoned bar from the back entrance, her boots crunching on the broken glass and debris.

The detective took out her flashlight to help her see better, and was greeted by sheer gore. Body parts were scattered and burned beyond recognition, the smell of the burning flesh still lingering. Finally, someone from the front of the bar saw her flashlight, and quickly called out.

"Who's there?" the firefighter demanded.

"Detective Briefs, WCPD," she announced.

"Ah, Bulma," the man sighed with relief as she shined the flashlight at him. "Glad they have you on this. We need all the help we can get."

"Tien," she greeted, nodding to him as she walked over. He had a mixture of ash and sweat on his face, his firefighter helmet perched on his head with the letters WCFD. "Long time no see. Got anything for me?"

"Well, the fire was caused by some IED exploding for sure, looks like something mechanical that got triggered. We have shrapnel all over the place here along with the weapons they all had on them. But there is one other thing that might interest you."

Tien turned then and headed behind the bar area as Bulma looked around again. She could see that the coroner had just pulled up, and she empathized; their job would be especially rough that night.

She turned when Tien pointed to a fallen, broken framed photo on the ground, semi-propped up. Whatever image had been there was now long gone, but what caught her interest was the small mounted device that was on the top edge of the frame. It was burnt, but out of place if you paid enough attention. She squatted down to get a better look, aiming her flashlight over it. To her surprise, she saw a dim red light pulsing on the other end of the black device, as though the battery was dying. There was a small antenna sticking out of it, and then it dawned on her what she was looking at.

"This is a listening bug," she breathed in awe, a small grin spreading over her face.

"It was blocked by some other debris, so it didn't fry to a total crisp. The dim light is the only reason I noticed it."

Bulma's lips pursed in thought as she leaned forward to examine the device with her flashlight. Most of it was burnt, and she doubted it was functional, but it had enough juice that the lab at the station should be able to work with it. And if all else failed, she could take a stab at it herself – she took to technology like she took to breathing. Hopefully she didn't need to do that though, as she had her hands full enough as it was.

"Bulma!"

Bulma stood as she and Tien both looked over as Krillin ran inside. "What is it? Did you find something else?" she asked him as she turned the flashlight in his direction.

"Not something – _someone_!" Krillin told her with a grin.

"You mean…"

"Yup," he announced, his eyes bright even in the darkness of the bar. "We have an eyewitness who saw the vigilante."

* * *

Meanwhile, Vegeta was walking down a familiar residential neighborhood that same night. After his conversation with Goku, he had paid a quick visit to a 24/7 grocery store, and now was carrying a paper bag in one arm against his chest filled with simple groceries. He was wearing a baseball cap to hide most of his spiked hair, and looked for all intents and purposes like a man heading home after a late-night run for groceries.

When he found the building he was interested in, he turned to head in. He got to the front door, and then reached into one of his jean pockets. Vegeta patted it a few times, and then tilted his head back as he groaned.

"Forgot your fob?" someone asked as they came up behind him to enter the building. Vegeta stepped aside, shifting his paper bag of groceries to his other arm.

"Yeah, looks like it; mind letting me in? Wife sent me to get some things and I forgot my fob like an idiot. I'd rather not wake her – she's pregnant, you know how it is," Vegeta gruffly said to the other man, hoping he sounded convincing enough.

It appeared that he did, because the other man gave him a crooked smile. "Yeah, no worries man."

Just like that, Vegeta followed the man into the building. He gave the other man a nod, watching as he went into the elevator, but Vegeta opted for the stairs as he retraced his steps from a couple of weeks ago.

Soon he was on the third floor, in front of Bulma's apartment. He looked around briefly, and then reached into his pocket for a lockpick. He made it look like he was unlocking the door normally, using the paper bag of groceries to shield himself, and soon had the door unlocked.

Vegeta pushed his way inside, letting the door close behind him. He went over to the kitchen counter, not bothering with the lights. He knew that his latest carnage would keep WCPD's best detective well-occupied for some time, but it wouldn't be forever, so he had to move fast. Vegeta put the bag down on the counter, and then reached down inside it, going past the loaf of bread, vegetables, and cheeses to take out a screwdriver and a brand new listening bug.

His dark eyes scanned the empty apartment, looking for a good place to plant the bug. It had to be more discreet than the last one, as she was definitely smarter than the imbeciles he had killed earlier that night. It would be bad business for her to find it easily; as the lead detective gunning to bring him down, it was in his best interest to stay one step ahead. After all, he refused to let anyone stand in his way – even her.

Still, standing in her apartment, he couldn't help the memories from their night together…

He growled and shook his head. It was time for business. He opted for the bedroom, and went into it, forcing himself to ignore everything about the room (and the memories of what they had done in said room) and focus on his task. Vegeta went to a desk Bulma had in the corner, grabbing the chair and positioning it under the main vent in the room. He then climbed up on the chair and began to unscrew the vent cover.

Vegeta suddenly froze when he heard knocking on the apartment door. He quickly unscrewed the vent cover, put in the voice-activated listening device as deep inside as he could with the red pulsing light angling away (and covered with black tape for good measure), and then re-screwed it back on. The knocking continued, so he hopped off the chair and leaned up against the wall next to the bedroom entrance as the front door to the apartment opened.

"B? You here?" a man called out. A light turned on in the kitchen, though the bedroom was still far enough away that it was still dark. Vegeta silently pulled out his handgun as he leaned his head back against the wall.

He heard shuffling in the kitchen for a moment, and then a half minute later, the light turned off and the door opened and closed again, locking from the outside. Vegeta waited a few long moments before he finally tucked his gun back behind his jeans, put Bulma's chair back where it was, and then left back to the kitchen. He went to retrieve the bag of groceries on the counter, where he noticed a bouquet of roses, a set of keys, and a card addressed to Bulma that had not been there when he had entered. Vegeta scowled at the items, but he retrieved his paper bag and left the apartment without a look back.

Soon enough, he arrived at his own apartment, in the opposite direction of Bulma's apartment from the neighborhood bar that was halfway between them. The building where he rented was a simple one, with only two apartments – one on the main floor, and the basement apartment, which was his. His landlord was a deaf old lady who did not have the best vision. She kept to herself, and allowed him to pay her cash, and thus the arrangement worked just fine for both of them.

Vegeta left the paper bag of groceries right in front of her apartment door, which he sometimes did for her – and which she always assumed was her son checking in. Vegeta knew that the man never did come visit his mother, but he never bothered correcting her thoughts, figuring it was a small positive deed he could do in the madness he was currently in. He then rounded the back of the building to the steps leading down to his simple and bare-bones basement studio apartment. It was almost three in the morning now, which was usually his prime time for action - but he hadn't slept in days, and he was exhausted.

He set up the sound piece in his ear that was synced to the bug in Bulma's apartment, and then adjusted his brand new radio that was linked to the tactical frequencies the WCPD liked to use. He then took off his cap, hoodie, body armor, and his shirt, putting it all onto a chair in the room at a desk. Examining his impressive selection of weapons, he picked up a rifle and made sure it was fully loaded.

A moment later and he had his shoes kicked off and was finally lying down on his mattress on the floor. He released a deep breath that carried with it an exhaustion years in the making, not bothering with removing his jeans as he settled the rifle down and across his torso, gripping the handle with his finger extended above the trigger. It was the position he had slept in thousands of times while in the Marines, in all kinds of adverse conditions. It ensured that if someone tried getting a jump on him while he slept, he would not be going down without a fight.

His eyes were heavy as he turned his head and his tired gaze settled on a small picture frame propped up on the floor next to his mattress. He was just a boy in the picture, standing with his mother who was carrying his infant brother, a cut out spot next to them where his father had once been in the picture.

For them, he would persevere and have his vengeance, even if it cost him everything. He had nothing left to lose now.

He finally fell asleep only moments later, dreaming of better days.

* * *

A few relentless pings sounded on Vegeta's phone the next morning, making him scowl as he slowly opened his eyes. He squinted over at the phone, which he had set to mask his IP address with encryption, disabling the actual phone features - lest his certain cop friend try to track him down. He picked it up and saw that he had a few messages from Goku on a secure messaging app they both used.

_G: Hey, just wanted to check in to see how you're doing._   
_G: I am kinda worried about you._   
_G: Want to get breakfast this morning so we can chat? Or maybe you can come over for dinner after I get off work? Chi-Chi would love to see you._

Vegeta snorted at the last message; Goku's wife had hated him for years, even before they were married. He checked the time and then tossed the phone aside. Moving his rifle over, Vegeta sat up and yawned. Morning time was down time to recover for the afternoon, which he would spend doing reconnaissance and gathering information about his next targets. Then the day would end, nighttime would begin, and his revenge would resume once again. It would not end until Frieza was dead by his hand.

This was all his life consisted of now, and needless to say, he wasn't in the mood for a breakfast or dinner chat. Standing slowly, he sluggishly went about making himself a fresh pot of coffee.

Half an hour later, on the other side of town, Bulma's phone rang, making her groan into her pillow. She had been at the police station almost until the sun was coming up, trying to force their eyewitness, Frieza's man Cui, to cooperate. Cui had willingly turned himself over to the police, apparently more scared of the vigilante than his boss, being as low level as he was. But he refused to give Bulma any information, on either the vigilante or the Cold criminal organization – not until he had a deal that gave him immunity and guaranteed him witness protection. Bulma had tried calling the DA to get it done, but the paperwork and red tape caught up to all of them. Finally, the DA had told her to just go to sleep and that they would handle it in the morning, as Cui wasn't going anywhere.

After only two hours of sleep, she was not happy to wake up to the name flashing on her cell phone.

Bulma angrily swiped her phone, putting it on speakerphone. "What is it, Yamcha?" she demanded, completely unaware that her voice had activated the listening bug hidden in her vent, and the vigilante she was hunting for was now listening in on the conversation.

"Hi, B. I hope I didn't wake you."

"You did."

"Ahh I'm sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you go into work."

Bulma sighed, rolling onto her back as she closed her eyes. "Well, you got me for a bit. What did you need?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk and see how you are. I miss you, and I'm worried about you."

Across town, Vegeta rolled his eyes as he sat at his small breakfast table, drinking his hot coffee as he listened in through his earpiece. He had his phone in front of him, and was scrolling through the daily news in West City, reading over the reports of his carnage the evening before. Like Bulma, he also believed in staying updated on what the media had to say - especially as they were basically reporting on him.

"I don't need you to worry about me," Bulma retorted. "And while I appreciate you bringing me back your set of keys to my place, I didn't need the flowers and the card…you know that this doesn't work between us, so why keep doing this?"

"It's just, you've been working these crazy hours, and now Krillin is saying that you're in charge of the investigation into this vigilante stuff, and, well…I don't know. I know you can probably kick my butt, but I can't help it, I still care and I'm worried."

Bulma sighed again, slowly sitting up. Her tone was more understanding this time. "I appreciate the concern, but you really don't need to worry. I got a few breaks yesterday in this investigation, and it'll be over soon."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep, got one of _you-know-who's_ men who survived the latest attack last night. He says he can ID the vigilante, so with this eyewitness, it should be a wrap soon."

Vegeta suddenly froze, holding his mug of coffee just in front of his lips as he blinked in shock.

"Oh man, that definitely makes me feel better," Yamcha sighed in relief.

"Good, I'm glad."

"Maybe when this all blows over, we can talk?"

"Yamcha…" Bulma sighed.

"Just as friends, that's all!"

"Listen, I gotta start getting ready for work. We will see what happens once this is all over, alright?"

At that, Vegeta removed the earpiece from his ear, downing the rest of his coffee in one shot. He got up and quickly began to get dressed, the whole time cursing angrily to himself. He _knew_ he should have done a more thorough check around the building last night to make sure no one had survived the explosion, and now he had a loose end to deal with. He could not allow whoever it was to escape his own brand of justice, nor could he allow the police to get so far ahead of him that they stopped him before he had achieved his revenge.

Vegeta made sure his handgun was fully loaded, and then tucked it into his jeans. Grabbing the rifle he had slept with, he double checked that it was loaded as well. He then left his apartment, heading towards the back alley where he had a used van waiting with more ammunition and more gear that he would need.

Whoever the eyewitness was, Vegeta would make sure they were dead before the day was over.


	4. Making a Move

Several hours later, Vegeta took a sip of his coffee, his shades and the trees above giving him reprieve from the blinding sun. He was sitting like a man without a care in the world, one leg folded up over a knee while he reclined on a bench in the busy park. A myriad of people passed in front of him – joggers, bikers, couples on a stroll together, kids running as they played. No one paid him any mind, and he paid them no mind either.

His attention was past them – past the trees, past the sidewalk, and past the cars on the street. That is where the West City police station was. The bench he was sitting on provided him with just the right angle to see who went in and who came out from the main entrance. It was noon, and lunch time was apparently a busy time as folks scurried in and out of the station, police officers and civilians alike.

Vegeta took another sip of his coffee as he scowled. Going in and killing the eye witness wasn't a problem – the problem was the building full of police officers. Not that they could stop him, but he wasn't keen on killing any of them to accomplish his goal of eliminating the eye witness. Doing so would inspire the wrath of the WCPD in his direction, changing their pursuit of him from a routine work endeavor to a personal vendetta. He was the expert on personal vendettas, and he didn't need that additional pressure.

A less _lethal_ approach would require some reconnaissance, which presented its own risks. However, he could gain valuable information in the process…

And, he may even get to see _her_ again.

Not for the first time, Vegeta cursed himself for allowing the one night stand. He hadn't done such a thing since the first week he was discharged from the Marines, which was a few years ago. Even when he knew who Bulma was and where she worked, he hadn't been able to resist her, and found himself magnetically pulled until he wound up in her bed. She was smart as hell, good with a gun, great at her job, and she happened to be the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Not to mention, the sex had been terrific.

Vegeta sighed and downed his coffee in one shot. There were risks no matter what; and the biggest one was letting the eye witness live.

He then took out his cell phone to message Goku back, taking him up on his offer and asking him to get lunch together. That would get Goku out of the building…

Meanwhile, Bulma was quickly losing her patience in one of the interrogation rooms. A folder slammed down heavily in front of Cui. Bulma put her palms on the metal table on either side of the folder as she leaned forward aggressively.

"We have been in here for hours now," she said calmly, even though her blue eyes were dark with rising anger. "Witsec, full immunity, that's more than enough for the likes of you."

Cui chuckled, his hands cuffed in front of him on the table. "For the kind of information I'm sitting on, not likely. I know you cops have a lot of dough. I want money for what I know, on top of everything else."

Bulma's eyes shifted over to Krillin, who was leaning back against the door. He just shrugged at her, arms crossed over his chest. Bulma pursed her lips, brow furrowing thoughtfully as she straightened and started making her way around the table.

"Hey, if you don't like our terms, you're free to go. Just know, that there may or may not be some talks starting on the street soon about you talking to us about Frieza. You could work with us, and be in a safe house tonight, on your way to witsec."

She paused, just behind him, making him scowl when she leaned down so she was practically whispering in his ear.

"Or you can take your chances on the street. Choice is yours. We'll leave you to think about that for a while."

Bulma walked over to Krillin, and then they both left the room while Cui frowned and stared at the folder in front of him which contained the offer from the DA.

"What is his deal?" Krillin grumbled as together they headed down to the lab area of the department. "He willingly turned himself into us! Why won't he just talk?"

"He's more stubborn than I expected," Bulma relented. "But he'll talk. It's only a matter of time. The streets aren't safe for him anymore and deep down, he knows that. Anyway, there is more than one way to skin a cat. The new lab tech is running forensics on the listening bug we got from the last explosion. Not sure if we can get prints off there, but at least we can figure out what the brand is and where you can buy these things…"

While they were heading down, Vegeta was entering into the police station through the main entrance. No one paid him any real attention as everyone scurried about, with phones ringing, officers and civilians talking, printers working, the works. He kept his shades on, bringing up a fresh coffee he had just bought next door as his dark eyes started mapping out the building from what he could see: the main entrance opened into a large work space, with an enormous desk directly facing the front, like a reception area. That desk was manned by two uniformed police officers. Behind them, he could see smaller desks with more officers, all of them uniformed.

"Hi, can I help you?" a young, bored-looking officer asked behind the reception desk.

Vegeta lowered his drink. "Sure. I wanted to check on the investigation of a murder from last month."

"Ah, you'll want to talk to a detective working homicide," the officer said with a nod. "Here, I'll take you to find one. The detectives are all upstairs."

Vegeta said nothing, but he paid keen interest to the layout of the main floor as he was led to the back past the interrogation rooms, trying to memorize as much of it as possible – different entrances and exits in particular. When they turned to head up the stairs, he managed a glimpse of a door that led to a jailed area. He also saw a technician working in a utility closet – that would _definitely_ be useful later.

He made his way upstairs behind the officer, coming to another sea of desks with computers in a large open space. The officer he was following waived a detective over to him.

"This here is Detective Jones," the officer said, gesturing to the man who approached. Vegeta removed his shades, folding them and letting them hang off the top of his white tank top. "He can help you."

"Hi, you can call me Mike," the man said with a friendly smile. He was bald, slightly overweight in a checkered shirt with a tie that didn't match. He extended his hand to Vegeta. "And you are?"

Vegeta ignored both the extended hand to him and the question, his gaze intense as he stared at the detective.

"My brother was killed a month ago, and I'd like to see how you're all doing in finding who did it."

That was partly true. While his little brother _had_ been brutally murdered only a month prior, Vegeta wasn't interested in what the police had to say about it. After all, he didn't need the police to give his brother justice, when he was wielding his own. Frieza was responsible for it, because he had given the order, just like he had threatened Vegeta that he would; as such, Vegeta was prepared to burn the city down to make sure he paid for it.

In hindsight, it was what should have happened years ago, after his mother had died; if he had been brave in the past and taken action then, his brother may have still been alive. Vegeta scowled, not for the first time bottling up his guilt so he could focus on the task at hand.

He gave Tarble's name to Mike, then watched as the detective went off to find the paperwork. Vegeta took a sip of his coffee, taking in this floor of the building as the detectives went about their business. With no one currently paying attention to him, he wandered a bit, taking in the location of the windows, mapping it all to memory.

Finally, he found himself standing in front of a whiteboard. Vegeta paused, tilting his head in curiosity. There were newspaper clippings taped up, post-it notes, mug shots of Frieza's men that had been killed, map printouts of the areas he had struck. It was a whiteboard dedicated to the vigilante. Dedicated to _him._ He was morbidly amused; here they were bending over backwards to find him, and he was literally right in front of them.

Mike scurried over to him, holding a folder that looked too thin in Vegeta's estimation.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Mike apologized sheepishly. "We have tried to make some headway on this case, but we haven't had much luck-"

"Of course you haven't," Vegeta sneered as he turned away from both Mike and the whiteboard. "Regardless, I have to get back to work. I'll be back later," he promised.

"Oh, okay," Mike said in mild confusion, but he was too busy to linger much. "You remember the way out?"

"I do."

"Great, oh, and here." The detective handed him a small business card. "Please call me if you find out anything that can help with the investigation for Tarble."

"Will do," Vegeta drawled, turning and heading back to the stairs.

Meanwhile, a frazzled Bulma was carrying a bag of fast food and a lemonade, her phone nestled between her head and shoulder as she quickly walked back into the police department. The lab had been successful at giving her a vendor for the listening bug, and now she and Krillin had zeroed in on the stores in West City that made such devices available for the general public. She had briefed the chief, and then had sent Krillin to the first store on the list for answers while she herself finally broke and got something to eat. After all, she needed something in her stomach if she was going to resume the frustrating dance between Cui and the DA.

"And don't forget, you have to check for cameras," Bulma reminded Krillin.

"I know, I know. I won't forget."

"And don't let them give you any shit either," she huffed, making her way over to the back as she rounded on the stairs. "Sometimes, they can tell you're not as experienced, and they'll be jerks-"

Bulma then abruptly collided with a muscled chest, cursing as she almost spilled her lemonade. She instinctively apologized, and then her breath caught when she looked up and saw familiar dark eyes staring intensely at her.

"Uhh…" She blinked. "Krillin, let me call you back."

She hung up without waiting for a reply from her junior detective. The man before her was the last person she had expected to run into, having resigned herself to the fact that she probably wasn't going to see him again. And yet, there he stood, looking criminally sexy. Her blue eyes couldn't help but skirt over him – the snug white tank top he wore left his tanned arms deliciously exposed, and showed off his sleeve tattoo in marvelous detail. The way the shirt tucked into his dark blue jeans held up with a belt, jeans that were sinful on his frame…her eyes shifted back up, and she loudly cleared her throat, hoping she wasn't blushing when she realized he must have noticed her wandering eyes.

"Can I help you, Victor?" she asked, trying to sound as professional as possible.

His nose twitched the slightest bit, irritated at the name. Before he could really think, his next words tumbled right out of his mouth.

"The name is actually Vegeta."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, something inside cursing his own stupidity, but it was out there now and so he studied her response. _Nothing is more dangerous to a man than a woman's beauty,_ the guys used to joke around and say. If he hadn't understood that then, he definitely did now.

Bulma looked surprised at first by the admission, then slightly offended, her blue eyes darkening. Her voice was quieter so her colleagues walking around wouldn't hear.

"So you lied about the name, huh? Well that figures. It's a nice cherry on top of you leaving my place before I even woke up," she said in annoyance, surprising herself with her own bitterness. A minute ago she had been content never to see him again, now suddenly she cared that he had lied about his name? She blamed being irrational on her hunger as she huffed with impatience. "Now if you'll excuse me…"

She stepped to her right to go around him, but Vegeta stepped to his left, blocking her. His dark eyes narrowed as he took a step closer, studying her closely, his vengeful mission briefly forgotten.

"The name thing…I didn't think things would go the way they did that night. I also didn't think you would want me to stay," he admitted. "If I'd known that you were going to be offended-"

"Is this what you came here for?" she irritably cut in. "It was a one time thing between us, Victor – er, Vegeta – whatever your name is. And I don't appreciate you coming to my workplace just to find me and-"

"Actually," he cut in, his whole face appearing to darken. "I came here because my brother was murdered and I was looking for an update on his case."

"…and, I'm an asshole," Bulma sighed. She looked at him apologetically, and it was almost endearing to him in a way. "I'm so sorry to hear about your brother."

His nose twitched again, and he finally broke their eye contact to stare at the side wall. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I'm getting really tired of the _I'm sorry's_."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She frowned thoughtfully, then her look softened a little. "Hey, why don't you come up with me and I'll look into it and let you know where the case stands."

Vegeta looked back at her, scowling. "I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"What, eat food at my desk while I take a break? I don't have anything more important to do right now than to help look into what happened to your brother."

It was true, after all. They were trying to make Cui sweat a while, and she did need to eat, which warranted a break.

Vegeta hesitated, almost tempted as he studied her. Her wavy blue hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail that had some strands falling loosely along her face. He put his hands in his pockets, scowling as he did, forcing himself to forget that he knew what her hair felt like. But her looking into Tarble's case could so easily lend itself to her having more questions about _him_ , and he at least had enough sense to avoid that. Still, he felt oddly moved by the offer.

"Thank you," he finally said, his rough voice quieter than usual. "I got what I came for though, so I should go. I have work to do. I imagine you do too."

"Well, alright…" she relented.

There was a moment of silence while they stared at each other, and she couldn't help but wonder what his smile would look like. It was weird to her, that she had seen him naked, had been as intimate with him as a woman could ever be with a man, and yet she had no idea what his smile looked like. Hell, she had only barely just learned his real name.

"It was…" Vegeta paused, as if searching for the right word, "…good, to see you again, Bulma," he awkwardly said, breaking the tension. She gave him a half smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"It was good to see you too, Vegeta," she responded, before her smile grew teasing. "Ya know, that name really does suit you better. You should open with that name next time. Anyway, back to work. Take care."

"You too," he muttered, stepping aside to let her pass him.

He watched her for a few moments as she went up the stairs, and then forced himself to look away, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. It was good to have had that short interaction with her, because pretty soon, she was going to hate him. He suddenly felt cold, but his mission beckoned, and what she thought of him would not stop him.

Slipping his shades back on, he left the police station.

* * *

Finally, past midnight, the DA's deal had been accepted, and Cui was giving his statement as Bulma and Krillin captured every word with a tape recorder.

"Now then, the vigilante," Bulma prompted, her blue eyes serious as she and Krillin took notes. "You said you can ID him. Who is he?"

"Well, I don't know for sure," Cui replied, making Bulma feel like she was going to break her pen. "But I can tell you that I've been working for Frieza for the last 5 years, and he hasn't been in our ranks, at least not in that time. Internally, we were looking into surviving family members of victims over the last year to…investigate and find out who it is."

Bulma and Krillin exchanged a look, before she turned her fierce gaze back on Cui, who shrank back a bit. "I thought you said you saw him."

"I did! Not clearly, but I did," he asserted, leaning forward. "It's one guy for sure. He's either been a cop or been in the military, you could tell with the way he operated. He's got tons of experience. He had dark hair, and-"

Suddenly, the power went out, the interrogation room filled with darkness. Bulma and Krillin both looked up in surprise. She reached out and paused the tape recorder as she stood up.

"Stay here with him," Bulma ordered, going to the door.

Meanwhile, having killed the power, Vegeta tossed several smoke canisters into the darkened police station, before leaning back against the wall by the stairs on the main floor. He heard the gasps and the alarmed shouts from the cops as he gripped his bean bag shotgun. He was fully armed with two loaded handguns and a loaded rifle slung onto his back, just in case he needed lethal options with the cops, though he would do his best not to resort to that if possible.

After all, he had to save the rounds for Cui.

He let a couple of seconds pass, then tossed in a flash grenade to stun them. When it exploded with a flash of light, he rounded the corner, his shotgun in front of him. He couldn't see, but he didn't need to; he had the map fresh in his mind of the layout.

He saw motion in front of him and instantly fired a beanbag round low, catching someone's legs if the sound of pain was any indication. Turning to his right, he brutally kicked in the door to the first investigation room, saw it was empty, and kept moving.

Real gunshots suddenly went off in his direction, and he dove instantly to the floor behind a desk to avoid the gunfire as he heard shouting as the officers armed themselves. Reaching down, Vegeta grabbed another flash grenade, and tossed it over his shoulder.

"We gotta get him out of here!" he heard Bulma shout. Vegeta grit his teeth at the sound of her voice, but he was committed.

"You take him, I'll stay!" a male voice responded.

The flash grenade went off a second later, the sound loud enough to damage hearing, and then Vegeta went to work.

Either the smoke was clearing or his vision had adapted, but he could see the cop with a handgun in his face as soon as he stood up. Vegeta instantly grabbed it and smashed it back into the officer's face, making him drop. Vegeta raised his shotgun and fired another three bean bag rounds in succession where he saw motion, hitting three different cops as he followed the sound of Bulma's voice while he quickly reloaded.

One of the fallen cops was aiming a handgun at him from the ground while writhing in pain from the shot to his knee, but Vegeta kicked him in the face to end that threat.

Krillin suddenly bull rushed him from the side, ramming Vegeta into the wall face first and yanking his rifle off him. Vegeta threw his elbow back, slamming it into Krillin's nose, then didn't give him time to recover as he spun around and struck him hard with the heel of the shotgun, dropping him cold.

The distraction though was enough for Goku to get the jump on him. Vegeta cursed when he felt the very familiar stranglehold grab him from behind, wrenching him backwards and forcing him to drop his shotgun. He instinctively dropped down, forcing Goku to flip over his shoulder and land on his back. Goku was relentless though and didn't release his hold, forcing Vegeta to fall with him. He thrashed hard to break free, his back now on Goku's chest as Goku laid on the floor, his grip iron tight on Vegeta's throat as he held his weight.

"I got you now," Goku panted, tightening his grip as Vegeta thrashed harder. The other cops were starting to recover and he heard one of the exit doors open.

Desperate, Vegeta shifted over as much as he could and rammed his elbow backwards into Goku's ribs as hard as possible, a few times for good measure. When his grip loosened the slightest bit, Vegeta took the opening and forced them both on their sides. He ducked his head then and with raw strength, broke the hold, before slamming his fist into Goku's face.

Vegeta quickly scrambled back up to his feet, but Goku was there a second later. For five good seconds, they each tried exchanging blows, but they knew each other too well; each punch was blocked, each kick knocked aside. Vegeta finally surprised Goku with another punch to the face, but he left himself open to a solid kick to the ribs that knocked the wind out of him and forced him to stagger backwards.

Then, in a move Vegeta was unprepared for, Goku took out his gun from his holster and fired three shots at him, hitting him square in the chest, all in under 2 seconds.

Despite the vest he was wearing for protection, Vegeta still dropped from the force, falling backwards. He was both in pain and in shock over Goku's audacity, but he had enough instinct to fire one last flash grenade before he hit the floor. It went off, practically in Goku's face. Goku winced and tried seeing after the painful burst of light as his ears practically felt like they were bleeding, but by the time he could see again, Vegeta was gone.

"Shit," Bulma whispered. She was driving now and had put some distance between them and the police station, but she was slightly shaken. Gunshots had been fired, and she had no idea what the situation was. She had managed to get Cui out though, and he was in the backseat now of the police car, her fellow detective Mike next to her. "Glad I asked a few guys to stick around tonight til we transferred this guy," she muttered.

"Yeah," Mike agreed next to her, as he texted on his phone. "That was wild."

"Who do you think it was? Frieza?" Bulma wondered out loud.

"It was the vigilante," Cui answered from the back, his voice shaken. "This ain't Frieza's style. Frieza is more…subtle."

"The vigilante?" Bulma repeated, her blue eyes glancing back at Cui through the rearview mirror.

"Who else would have the balls?" Cui mumbled. "I'm sure he wants me dead."

 _But if that's true, how did he know we had you?_ Bulma wondered to herself. She glanced over at Mike. "Can you text Krillin and ask him what the situation is?"

"Sure thing, but first, I think you need to stop the car."

Bulma's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Why-"

She stiffened when there was a gun suddenly against her head. "I insist," Mike said, his voice dark.

"So, you're on _his_ payroll, huh," Bulma said through clenched teeth as she brought the police car to a stop on a deserted street. "Should have known, with your miserable record of closing cases related to him. And, I'm guessing that wasn't your wife you were texting…"

"Shift to park," he ordered, and she did as he asked. Cui tried in vain to open one of the rear doors to get out, but the rear doors would only open from the outside, and there was a grated barrier between them so he could do nothing about the gun pointed to Bulma's head. Plus, he was still handcuffed. "Put both of your hands on the steering wheel," Mike ordered.

A black SUV suddenly pulled up as Mike zip tied Bulma's hands to the steering wheel.

"You know that your career is dead now, right?" she stated.

"Well, at least I'm being well compensated," Mike said as he frowned. "Sorry, Bulma."

"Fuck off," she growled angrily at him.

Cui panicked when Mike then exited the police vehicle, right as the SUV rear door slid open.

"Shit, don't let them take me!" he cried as he tried moving away from the door. "Frieza is going to kill me!"

Bulma exhaled through her nose, but she had no time to respond to him before Mike opened the rear door closest to Cui and roughly hauled him out. He led him over to the black SUV, and forced Cui inside, climbing in after him. The door slid shut, and then the SUV tore off into the night, leaving Bulma alone in the police car.

* * *

An hour later, the bag that had been on Cui's head during the drive was roughly removed. He was on his knees, outside near the docks of West City. He was shaking with fear as he looked up to see the boss he had never seen in person before. Frieza was standing facing away from him, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the dark water of the lake that bordered West City.

"So – Cui, is it? A little bird in the DA's office told me that you were going to turn against me," Frieza said, his tone as pleasant as if he was discussing fine dining.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Cui instantly said, desperation in his voice. "I didn't tell them ANYTHING, I swear it!"

Frieza chuckled. "You should know, Cui, that I have people _everywhere._ Cops, judges, people in the DA's offices. You name it, I own it. Nothing happens in _my_ town without me knowing about it. And _no one_ works against me without word getting back to me." He slightly turned, offering a chilling smile that made Cui shrink back. "You know what the punishment for this is, don't you?"

Cui was practically crying. "Please, I'm sorry-"

Frieza laughed, walking over to him. He put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing almost painfully. "Dear boy, what do you think? That I would come out here at this ungodly hour to see a low ranked man like you killed? If I wanted you dead, I assure you, you would already be dismembered in the lake."

At the words, Cui's raw fear started to turn into confusion as Frieza squatted down in front of him.

"Giving information on me was only half of the deal with the DA. I'm interested in the other half of what you had to offer," Frieza told him with a grin. "But instead of helping the cops, you are going to help _me._ "

"Sir?"

"You're going to help me identify the vigilante, so I can kill him once and for all."


	5. Birthdays and Graveyards

_**A month and a half ago…** _

_It may have been his birthday, but Vegeta was hardly in the mood for celebrating._

_He trudged up the stairs towards the apartment he shared with his younger brother that evening after work, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, his work boots and his loose work pants feeling unnaturally heavy. All he wanted to do was get changed and hit the gym, then kick his feet up with a cold bottle of beer while watching the primetime boxing match that was on that evening. He doubted he could even do that much without his thoughts going in dark directions from the letter he had received just a few days prior, but a man had to try._

_At the very least, he was mildly consoled by the fact that he would be seeing his therapist soon. He could work through his moral dilemma there – keeping details close to the chest, of course._

_The nice thing about working a manual labor job in construction was that he got a workout often. Even now, he could feel his dirtied white tank top – which had been pristine when he left for work that morning – clinging to his lower back in particular with his sweat. He was brooding as he got to the top floor, wondering if he should just skip the gym that day after all, when he opened the door to his apartment…_

… _and was instantly greeted by a chorus yelling "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"_

_Vegeta flinched back in surprise, his free hand instinctively reaching for a gun he didn't have; but when he saw the four grins looking back at him, he sighed and walked inside, dropping his work bag near the door._

" _What's all this?" he gruffly demanded, scowling. Nappa was there, a guy Vegeta had met on a security side gig he'd done a year prior; he was amusing enough that Vegeta had remained in touch, and they had become gym buddies. Raditz was also in attendance; with how close Vegeta had gotten to his brother over the years, they had struck up a decent camaraderie, on occasion even syncing up for drinks. Goku was grinning the most, the only one wearing a party hat. Vegeta rolled his eyes at him, then settled his dark and questioning gaze on his sheepish looking younger brother, Tarble._

" _What? It's your birthday, Vegeta, of course I was going to do something!" Tarble said with a grin. His grin turned into a smirk as he added, "I would have invited more people, but I'm fairly sure these are your only friends."_

_Vegeta scoffed, then smacked his brother in the back of the head before Tarble could get out of reach._

" _Shut up, nerd," he growled. Nappa and Raditz laughed as Goku came closer and offered Vegeta a beer, which he readily took. Tarble hoisted himself up so he was seated on the counter, a wide smile on his face._

" _I ordered us some good food, and we can all hang out and watch the match tonight. I even got us a cake!" Tarble explained excitedly. Vegeta passed him an even look, which made Tarble cry out, "Oh come on! It's your 30_ _th_ _birthday, I just graduated from undergrad, and next year I'll likely be doing a rotation with my med school program, so I thought we'd make the best of it this year!"_

" _I mean, that may be what your_ _ **brother**_ _wanted, but Nappa and I are just here for the food," Raditz laughed._

" _Brothers are the worst, ain't they?" Goku told Vegeta with a chuckle. Vegeta grunted and chugged down a good portion of his beer, then left it on the counter._

" _Fine," Vegeta sighed in defeat. "Just don't sing or any other bullshit," he grumbled._

" _You know what you need, Vegeta?" Nappa asked, smirking. "A woman. That'll help you lighten up."_

" _I tried setting him up with one of my classmates!" Tarble announced, earning a glare from his older brother. "But he wasn't interested. Said she was 'too immature.'"_

" _All your idiot friends are," Vegeta snapped. "You don't start clearing them out of your life, you're going to be a doctor surrounded by morons, Tarble."_

" _You know," Goku said thoughtfully. "I have a coworker who I think you'd_ _ **really**_ _like. Her name is Bulma; she's a detective, and smart as a whip too. She has blue hair and blue eyes, I bet you'd find her super attractive. Too bad she's got a boyfriend though, because I think you'd like her a lot…"_

" _Vegeta is only capable of loving his gun collection anyway," Raditz said with a laugh._

" _Tch," Vegeta rolled his eyes, before glancing back at Goku with a scowl. "A word, Kakarot, in private?"_

" _Sure thing," Goku replied._

_Nappa and Raditz went to sit on the sofa, arguing over what channel to watch before the match started. Tarble hopped off the counter, and this time evaded Vegeta trying to clap him again on the back of the head as he walked past._

_They walked into Vegeta's master bedroom, with Goku closing the door behind them. Vegeta went over to the dresser as Goku sat on the edge of the bed._

" _What's up, Vegeta?" he asked, his eyes curious as Vegeta rummaged through the top drawer. His friend removed a blank envelope, then walked over to Goku, who extended his hand to receive it._

_Vegeta hesitated, scowling down at him. "You are not reading this as a cop, Kakarot. Understand?"_

" _Yeah, I get it," Goku answered, removing his party hat. Vegeta then handed him the envelope. Goku took it and read the letter it contained, his expression serious._

" _What are you all doing to bring him down?" Vegeta asked quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. He did not want the others to potentially overhear, especially not his kid brother._

_Goku finished reading and looked up. "Well, I work more street level, this is more up to the detectives. Still, I know we're doing as much as we can, but it's not easy. He's extremely well connected. Though, if you let me bring this to Bulma-"_

" _No," Vegeta replied, taking the letter out of Goku's hands. He shoved it back into the envelope, rougher than necessary. "He owns too many of you in WCPD," he growled._

" _He doesn't own_ _ **her**_ _, I promise. She's honest and by the books. Besides, what else are you going to do? You have to take this letter seriously-"_

" _You don't think I know that?" Vegeta bitterly demanded. "Ten fucking years I worked for that asshole before the Marines, thanks to my father. Don't lecture me on what needs to be taken seriously."_

_Goku lowered his gaze, one hand scratching the back of his head. He didn't know much about those years before Vegeta joined the Marines, but he knew that Frieza loved using children as soldiers and raising them within his ranks to ensure complete loyalty. With Goku's current line of work, he had never pressed Vegeta for more details, deciding to let the demons of the past, stay in the past. Still, seeing the things he had seen on his arrests, he could fill in the blanks._

" _Then what are you going to do?" he finally asked._

_Vegeta turned around, giving him his back, his gaze dropping to the envelope in his hands. There was a heavy silence between them, but they could hear the TV going and the others laughing on the other side of the door._

" _I…I can't go back to that life," Vegeta quietly thought out loud. His eye was twitching from stress, making him rub it absently. "Tarble, he…he needs me. I'm all he's got, I'm working double shifts, triple shifts sometimes to help him with college, and now the kid is going to med school. Things are different now. I can't risk it, Kakarot."_

" _Vegeta, I really think Bulma can help you. She's been after him for a long time-"_

" _No," Vegeta cut in, shaking his head. "Even if she is honest, like you say, it won't end well. It never does, involving cops."_

" _I'm involved now, aren't I?"_

_Vegeta hesitated, then turned to face Goku. He looked at him with intense scrutiny, just as someone knocked loudly on the door._

" _Hey birthday boy! We're going to have some cake now before the match!" Nappa yelled._

_Vegeta glared at the closed door, exhaling through his nose. When he didn't seem like he was going to respond, Goku shouted back, "We'll be out in a minute!"_

_Goku then stood up and walked up to Vegeta, putting an arm around his shoulders and earning a wary look from his friend._

" _Listen, Vegeta. Everything will work out. I'll help you out as much as I can, you know I will. We'll come up with a plan so you don't get mixed up with him again, a plan that keeps you and Tarble safe. But for tonight, just try to relax and enjoy your birthday, huh? Try not to worry about it, we'll figure it out."_

_Vegeta scowled and said nothing for a few long seconds, before his discomfort with the contact got the best of him and he shrugged Goku off._

" _You go back out there. I'll be out soon, just going to take a quick shower," he gruffly said, turning and heading towards his private bathroom. Goku sighed, heading the opposite way towards the door to go back with the other guys._

" _Kakarot."_

_Goku stopped and looked back, his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"_

_Vegeta's stare was intense. "This conversation doesn't leave this room, you understand?"_

" _No worries, I understand," Goku said with a nod, before leaving the room._

_Vegeta stared at the door his friend had walked through. Goku was right – he **was** involved now, and Vegeta was suddenly not sure he wanted him to be. He had to tread carefully with Frieza's request to come work for him again, and involving someone who happened to be a cop seemed like a recipe for disaster. Things were dangerous enough already. He knew that Frieza would not take no for an answer. He had his parents as example enough of what happened if you declined._

_No, it was best he handle this one alone._

* * *

"You haven't been here in some weeks, not since just after Tarble died. What brings you here now, Vegeta?"

Vegeta stared out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, frowning as he held a hot cup of coffee in his hands. Though he would have preferred alcohol, he figured his therapist would not have been pleased had he shown up with a 12-pack of beer. He stayed silent at the question, preferring to gaze out into the clouded sky which was quickly darkening. Soft drops of rain were starting to fall – a storm was brewing, in more ways than one.

"Today would have been Tarble's birthday," Vegeta muttered after a long moment of silence. The look in his dark eyes was angry and resentful as he bitterly added, "He would have been 23 today, and no one even gives a shit. The world just keeps fucking turning."

"The world is indeed brutal and unfair. You know that better than most," the gruff voice replied.

Vegeta looked down for a moment, before turning around. He walked over to a seat across from his therapist, sitting down gingerly. He took a sip of his coffee, his intense gaze on the therapist he'd been seeing almost every week for the last four years. The therapy had been necessary immediately after his discharge from the Marines – the loss of his mother, the subsequent decade growing up while working for Frieza, the intensity of his military experience, an utterly unbearable father who only viewed him as a disappointment, and a rough transition back to civilian life, had apparently all culminated in post traumatic stress.

Still, Vegeta had absolutely refused to even contemplate a therapist at first, even when his symptoms started becoming dangerous - particularly when he interacted with his father. Tarble and Goku both had practically thrown him into the room with the therapist the very first time, unwilling to take no for an answer.

But then a peculiar thing started happening after several months of talking with the therapist. His anxiety started decreasing. Civilian life, _a normal, non-criminal life,_ was no longer as daunting as it first seemed. He was able to control himself better if someone startled him, resisting the immediate urge to beat them bloody. The nightmares at night started to decrease both in frequency and intensity. And so Vegeta had begrudgingly continued the treatment, at first just to please his brother, but later for himself.

Plus his therapist was a straight-shooter named Piccolo, someone who could cut through the noise without a lot of sentimental bullshit, which was what he needed.

"Is everything alright? You seem stiff when you move," Piccolo commented, observing his patient carefully.

Vegeta's face darkened. Despite the bulletproof vest he had worn the previous night at his botched assassination attempt in the police precinct, his chest was sore and he was wearing deep bruises under his shirt from the gunshots Goku had fired into his chest.

"I got into a fight last night," he said dryly, before raising his coffee to his lips to take a sip.

Piccolo looked up from the notes he was taking, peering over his glasses at him. He could see the knuckles on Vegeta's right hand were bruised. "A fight? With who?"

"Some asshole who calls himself my friend."

"What triggered the fight?"

Vegeta took a larger drink this time. He reclined back, crossing one leg up over his knee. "Let's just say he disagrees with how I'm…coping…with Tarble's passing."

"He disagrees so much he is willing to fight you?"

"Like I said, he's an asshole. With what he did to me last night, he's made it much harder for me now to continue my work," Vegeta growled in annoyance.

"I see. And how _are_ you coping? It has only been a month since your brother was gunned down."

Vegeta shrugged with indifference, looking away. "Had the funeral, then I got rid of our apartment, sold a lot of shit. Moved across town. Quit my job. Got a new one that keeps me busy at night. Just taking tonight off since it's my brother's birthday, but I will be back to work soon."

"That's a LOT of change in just a month."

"I move fast."

"Are you allowing yourself time to grieve?"

An image flashed through Vegeta's mind of him putting a bullet through the skull of Frieza's soldier behind the exploded bar. That was as close to grieving as he knew how. Vegeta shrugged again, raising his drink and finishing his coffee this time. He tossed the empty cup aside, into a small trash can.

"Maybe you could go visit the grave today. Pay your respects to Tarble on his birthday," Piccolo suggested. Vegeta's eye twitched at the mere suggestion.

"Maybe I would, if he and my mother weren't buried next to that piece of shit," Vegeta snarled.

"We always do come back to your father, don't we, Vegeta?" Piccolo said knowingly, earning a look of borderline hatred. "But are you really going to avoid Tarble like you often do with your mother, just because your father is there too?"

"If that old bastard wouldn't have gotten involved with the illegal shit he got involved in back then, my life would have been completely different," Vegeta sneered. "My mother and brother would probably still be alive. If you ask me, our lives would have been better if he'd gotten the cancer 20 years ago."

"Life doesn't make sense sometimes. Sometimes the bad live, and the good die. But we cannot change the past, we can only accept it, Vegeta."

Vegeta rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. Finally, he decided on changing the subject, sighing as he did.

"With it being Tarble's birthday today, I was thinking earlier about _my_ last birthday, a couple weeks before Tarble was killed. Someone offered me help, but I made a decision that day not to accept it…if I had, maybe things with Tarble could have gone a different way. I thought I knew how to protect him but…" his voice trailed off as he shook his head in disappointment.

Piccolo looked concerned. "You blame yourself?" When Vegeta stayed silent, his eyes on the floor, Piccolo continued. "You must know that what happened to your brother is not your fault."

Vegeta swallowed before speaking. "I handled things wrong, and then my brother died, how isn't it my fault?" he asked, voice raspier than usual.

"You took care of him as much as you possibly could, his whole life. He looked up to you and respected you. You were a good brother to him, and you made the best decisions that you could. The only one responsible is the one who pulled the trigger."

"Hn," Vegeta grunted with indifference, his eyes on his jeans as he flicked a speck of lint off them. He lapsed into a long and brooding silence, not responding to that, until Piccolo finally broke the silence again.

"So what have you been doing since the funeral? You said you have a new job?"

Vegeta shrugged again. "I work in garbage now. Taking out the trash at night. It's therapeutic, makes me feel better," he gruffly replied, a morbid smirk tugging on his lips.

"Good," Piccolo nodded in approval. "And your personal relationships? Have you met with any of your friends, before this one you got into a fight with?"

"No, but…I did have a one night stand, a couple weeks ago," Vegeta admitted, his eyebrows drawing together as he scowled. Memories of that night played through his mind – gods, her hands and lips were so _soft_ , so divine against his skin – with a growl and a shake of his head, he willed the memories away. "I saw her again yesterday."

"Oh?" Piccolo leaned forward, intrigued. "Did you speak to her yesterday?"

"Just for a few minutes."

"Are you interested in a relationship with her?"

Vegeta looked stunned by the question, and then he guffawed, humorlessly and bitterly. "A relationship? Her, with _me_? Tch." He waved a hand dismissively. "She would never be interested."

"I didn't ask if _she_ would be interested. I asked if _you_ are interested."

Vegeta shifted uncomfortably. "It doesn't matter. She would never approve of my work I'm doing right now."

"Again, not what I asked," Piccolo stated, earning a death glare from his patient and a frustrated exhale.

"I have…an interest," Vegeta relented as he scowled, his foot fidgeting. "But we…we are far too different. We come from different worlds. We are on opposing sides right now. Maybe in some other life, something could have happened, but in this one, it can't work."

"You are making a lot of assumptions. Let her get to know you. Maybe you can at least be friends."

Vegeta scoffed, shaking his head. "I can't be that woman's friend."

"Why not?" Piccolo asked. Vegeta gave him a pointed, "you've got to be kidding me" look, and Piccolo nodded in understanding. "Ah, I see. You feel strongly for this woman."

Vegeta growled, "Don't be absurd, I barely even know her!"

"It seems you know enough. Besides, you can get to know her better. What is stopping you?"

"I just…look, if she knew me, if she _really_ knew me…the things I've done, the things I'm doing…she would hate me."

"Again, assumptions. You don't know that."

"No, that's the truth."

"Let her get to know you, the _real_ you. The good, bad, and ugly. Then let her decide. That will be the real truth. Who knows? You may be surprised."

Vegeta frowned, pondering the mere possibility, just as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He grit his teeth when he pulled it out and saw that Goku had messaged him.

"Apologies, it's my asshole _friend_ I got in the fight with. He wants to have me over, to talk about last night."

"You should go see him."

"Tch, not fucking likely," Vegeta snarled.

"Why not? Maybe he wants to apologize."

Vegeta sighed, then stood up, slipping on a black ballcap to hide his hair. "Look, I've got to go. I have business to take care of."

"Are you sure? You still have time on the clock."

"It's fine. My schedule is a little…turbulent these days," Vegeta muttered, scowling as he put his hands into his black hoodie pockets. "I'll reach out next time I want to pay you to give me shit again."

Piccolo smirked as he stood as well. "Well, you know how to find me. Take care of yourself, Vegeta."

Vegeta grunted, and walked out of the office and lobby, out into the rain. He jogged through the parking lot, ignoring the soreness of his chest, and then got into his van as quickly as he could to get out of the rain. He sighed, shoulders falling as he looked down, with only the myriad of handguns, rifles, and body armor in the back of the van keeping him company.

He was in North City, where he had spent the night in a cash-only motel in a dingy part of town. The eyewitness escaping the previous night meant that, to his knowledge, the cops likely had him in witness protection. This meant there was a high chance they knew who he was, and were now looking for him. The timing was also suspicious for Goku to be messaging him, wanting to see him. For all Vegeta knew, Goku could be trying to set him up so that Bulma and her team could bring him down.

But even if he wasn't, if the _cops_ found out about him, then it was only a matter of time until Frieza did too, with the moles Frieza had in the police department of West City. Vegeta had even gone the extra step of calling the son of his landlady to give him an anonymous tip for him to go pick her up and get her out of the building, lest Frieza's men kill her while looking for him.

Vegeta reached up to pull down the sun visor. He plucked out the picture that was tucked there – it was him with his brother at Tarble's college graduation, just a few months ago. Tarble was in his cap and gown, grinning from ear to ear. Vegeta was even close to smiling in the picture.

He remembered how proud he had felt that day – he himself had needed two extra years just to finish high school, from losing so much time doing Frieza's bidding. Then he had gone to the military, where he had honed his lethal skills even further, even though he had paid with the trauma of war. His brother had been on a different trajectory entirely, and Vegeta was prepared to do everything possible to help him succeed.

In the end, though, it had all been for nothing.

He felt the guilt and grief both threatening to overwhelm his consciousness, and he forced the emotion back with expertise. After all, why grieve when one could have revenge? He stared at the picture a moment longer, then tucked it back into the sun visor, throwing the sun visor back up.

He then started up the van, and drove back towards West City.

* * *

It was dark by the time Vegeta got to the graveyard. He had resisted going, but he couldn't get his damn therapist's words out of his head, nor rid the absurd guilt he felt at the thought of not visiting on Tarble's birthday of all days. Birthdays were always such a big deal to Tarble, a "little brother feature" that Tarble had died before outgrowing. They had already been making plans to go on a camping expedition on his birthday, to fish, hike, and enjoy the great outdoors for a few days, just the two of them and mother nature.

Instead, it was just Vegeta alone in the rain. He got out from his van at the graveyard, scanning his surroundings. There was only one other car parked in the vicinity that Vegeta could see, and it was a car he recognized. He scowled at the sight of the car, muttering to himself, but he was already there so he figured he may as well go on ahead.

Still, he got a handgun from the back of the van and tucked it behind his jeans, just in case. With that, and with the body armor he wore underneath his hoodie, he would have some protection if things got hairy.

Moments later, Vegeta came up to his family plot. He grit his teeth a little at the sight of the other man who was already standing in front of Tarble's tombstone, but came up next to the man anyway.

They stood together in silence for five whole minutes, staring at the tombstone as the rain grew heavier, until the taller man spoke first.

"It would have been Tarble's birthday today," Goku said. He was frowning, his uncovered hair wet and plastered to his face wildly. "I figured I'd come pay my respects, and also see if you would show up."

"Why, so you could shoot me again?" Vegeta snapped.

"I warned you in the church that I would do my job, Vegeta. Plus, I knew you were wearing body armor," Goku replied evenly. He paused for a moment, before angrily adding, "Besides, you deserved to get taken down for that stunt you pulled-"

Vegeta abruptly grabbed him by the jacket, hauling him close with one hand as he slammed a fist into Goku's face with the other hand. Goku yelped as he landed sitting down in the wet grass, fresh blood running from his nose and vanishing in the rain. It was a freebie; he hadn't bothered to defend against the shot, but Vegeta didn't care.

"If you EVER open fire on me again, you better make sure you fucking kill me, Kakarot!" Vegeta venomously snarled down at him.

Goku glared up at him. "I have no interest in killing you-"

"Then what is your interest?"

"I want to help you!" Goku shouted at him. "I've been trying to reach you because Cui, the eyewitness, got kidnapped in transport after what happened at the police station. He was taken by Frieza's men, Vegeta. It's only a matter of time before they know who the vigilante is."

Vegeta reached up, taking off his ballcap so the cool rain would help ground him. He turned away, his dark eyes scanning the tombstones belonging to his parents, and then settling on the one belonging to his brother.

"Figures," he finally grumbled. It was a challenge to be sure, but he would overcome it, like he always did.

"Vegeta, work with us," Goku pleaded as he got back up to his feet, earning a shocked look from Vegeta. "We have been gunning for Frieza for _years –_ I could talk to Bulma, she could work to lessen the charges against you if you help us bring Frieza down once and for all. You worked for him before, you know how he operates-"

"Kakarot-"

"We can wire you up, you can help us get incriminating evidence-"

"Why, so he can get out on a technicality?" Vegeta yelled, spinning back to Goku, a look of rage on his face. Goku tensed for a fight, but it didn't come as Vegeta kept ranting, "So he can work with his lawyers, and the crooks in the DA's offices, oh, and the judges in his pocket, and he can get out and murder everyone that's ever crossed my path? This isn't the Marines, this isn't the police department, there are no fucking rules of engagement here!"

"You won't even give it a chance!" Goku yelled back. "If you had taken my help a month and a half ago-"

"If you finish that sentence here at my brother's grave, I swear on my mother and brother's lives, you will be dead to me, Kakarot," Vegeta seethed, his dark eyes blazing with warning.

Goku paused and took a breath, looking at his friend in exasperation. "You know I would never blame you for this, Vegeta. I just think we can have him dead to rights, and you can have your justice, if you would just give the law a chance-"

" _He dies by my hands, that is the only way this ends!"_ Vegeta screamed.

For a long time, there was only the sound of rain and Vegeta's heavy breathing from his anger. Goku's shoulders finally relaxed, his posture deflating in defeat as he looked back towards Tarble's tombstone.

"I'll leave you with your brother so you have time alone."

With that, Goku turned around and quietly left, without a look back. Vegeta watched him for a moment, before looking back at the tombstones of his family, purposely avoiding looking at his father's. His teeth were grinding together, but he forced himself to calm down. His emotions were a whirlwind, but he needed a clear head, or he would be in the family plot soon.

"I'm sorry, Tarble, but I'll settle this, I promise," he whispered, grateful for the rain that was running down his face. "Happy birthday, kid."


	6. Taking Out the Trash

Bulma had a grim look on her face the next morning, exhaling through her nose as she stared down at the body lying among overflowing garbage bags on the ground in front of the dumpsters. Even as bludgeoned as the body was, she recognized it as the eyewitness they had tried making a deal with, Cui. She studied the corpse for several long seconds, taking in how disfigured he was. He had been mercilessly beaten, then gunned down, with a dead rat shoved halfway into his mouth as he laid behind the building of an extermination company. They had spent the entire day after the vigilante struck the police station trying to find Cui to save him, just to get here the next morning and realize it was to no avail.

 _Guess Frieza wasn't as subtle as you thought he was, Cui,_ she mused to herself, her eyebrows drawing together. There was the slim possibility that it was the vigilante who had gotten to him and done this, but she had worked long enough to recognize Frieza's brutality. Still, she found herself feeling a rare sense of guilt as her blue eyes lingered on him. Seeing corpses was par for the course when one was a detective working in a large city that was practically ruled by Frieza's massive criminal organization. But she had gotten a rare break with Cui, and should have been more careful handling someone who was willing to go on the record against Frieza. She should have protected him better.

It was a rare mistake, and one she would never make again.

Bulma sighed again, turning her attention to her junior detective as he walked up next to her. Krillin was still wearing a noticeable black eye from the vigilante assault on the police precinct, but other police officers had to take time off to recover from the bean bag rounds they had taken that night. Plus, looking down at the corpse before them, he figured he couldn't complain too much.

"Well, that's him alright," Krillin muttered. Bulma didn't respond, her blue eyes lowering to his two cups of coffee. Krillin extended one over to her, and she took it before turning away, letting the coroner step in to do their job. Other police officers scattered about, taping up the crime scene. "Should we check for cameras around here?"

"No," Bulma replied. She began walking away and getting out of the range of the crime scene tape, with Krillin right on her heels. "He wasn't killed here, just dumped here to be found. You can tell by the lack of blood. We won't find anything noteworthy here," she mumbled. "Frieza just wanted to send a message, hence the rat, the garbage, and the location. You can check the cameras if you like, but you won't find anything. Now," she said, stopping and looking sharply at her junior detective. "Let's step through the paces, Krillin. Why would he be killed?"

"Because he was going to turn on Frieza."

"Yes, but why else?" Bulma pressed.

"Uh…" Krillin started, as they turned and began walking towards the parking lot where their cars were. "Uh, I may need more coffee for this."

Bulma almost cracked a smile in amusement, but it was fleeting. "If he was killed, it's because Cui was no longer of use to Frieza, which means we have to assume that Frieza's got the information Cui was going to give us on the vigilante. In order words, we have to assume that Frieza now knows who the vigilante is."

Krillin swallowed heavily. "And if Frieza knows who the vigilante is…"

The grim look on Bulma's face was back. "Yes, then there will be open war between them, and things are about to get a lot messier – especially since _we_ don't know who the vigilante is yet."

"The guys back at the precinct tried checking all the camera angles from the vigilante assault the other night. We've got nothing. The guy is good," Krillin said, his voice a mixture of admiration and frustration.

"Yes, he is – so we have to be better. We can't stand on the sidelines while this goes on. We _need_ to get the vigilante before he and Frieza burn this whole city to the ground." Bulma paused when she got to her car, then turned her scrutinizing gaze back on Krillin.

"We are going turn up the heat, Krillin. I want you to cross check EVERY unresolved murder in this city over the last year with surviving family members who have police or military experience…whoever this is, he's a pro, so look especially hard into anyone who is special ops or has tactical experience. He's got dark hair, from the little Cui gave us. Oh, and definitely take over that shitbag Mike's case work, as he's probably been covering up Cold murders going back some time now. While you do that, I'll take over on running down the stores where someone could have bought the listening bug we found at the bar, then we'll cross the information we both get and see how this cookie crumbles. I want that information in the next two days, got it?"

Krillin grimaced. "That's a ton of legwork to get done in two days," he nervously said.

"I'll talk to the chief and see if we can get some surge support. Be prepared for some overtime. We are behind, Krillin, so we have to catch up fast, because we are flying blind right now."

"Got it," he said with a determined nod. "So, what will we do with the vigilante once we find him? Are we going to try to flip him?"

Bulma visibly hesitated at the question, as though that thought hadn't occurred to her – or like she had not fully allowed herself to entertain such a thing.

"Someone like that?…I don't know. It'd be a real stretch to turn him," she said with a frown, shaking her head. "While he'd make for a great asset on paper, he's probably too far gone to listen to reason, if he thinks taking the law into his own hands is more efficient than coming to us in the first place. Besides, he launched a direct assault on _our own police precinct_ ," she growled more heatedly than he expected.

"That is true, but, Bulma…" Krillin scratched the back of his head. "He didn't even use live ammunition, even when we fired on him…I don't think he wanted to kill any of us cops. Maybe he would listen and be willing to work with us, like Cui did? You know, help us take down Frieza?"

Bulma looked at him with exasperation. "Krillin, this guy is extremely dangerous. But…" she hesitated again for a second, before opening the door to her car and getting in. She turned on the car, and rolled down her window to tell him with a sigh, "Look, we'll see what happens. Let's figure out who the hell he is first, as soon as possible. If we're lucky, we can find him before Frieza does and bring him in. Then we'll see if he's willing to play ball."

"Right, I'll get back to the office soon and get on that paperwork," Krillin said, turning to head back to his own car.

"Hey, Krillin," she called out to him. The junior detective paused and looked back.

"Yeah?"

"If by chance you stumble on this guy, don't try to negotiate with him. I know that some of the guys in the office sympathize with him and what he's doing, and I won't judge that if you agree with them…but we have a job to do. If you find him and you're alone, you give him the chance to get cuffed and taken in, or you take him down for good. Body armor and loaded gun from now on until this is over, just in case, because things may start to get messy soon. Got it?"

Krillin nodded. "Got it."

She watched as he walked off, exhaling deeply. Keeping her window down, Bulma retrieved a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. Her thoughts were on Krillin's words as she took out her lighter and lit the cigarette, before taking a necessary draw. She didn't care that it was still morning; the stress of this case was taking its toll, especially when the cops were still on their heels. Still, she briefly allowed herself to contemplate turning the vigilante to their side. It was hard to say without knowing how deep his knowledge was on Frieza's operations, or even if he would want to; hell, with the way things were going, she would be shocked if he would even allow himself to be taken into custody alive.

But as she shifted her car to drive to get back on his trail, she figured that one should never say never.

* * *

Vegeta was sitting on the driver side of his van later that evening, with shades over bloodshot eyes and a necessary cup of coffee in hand. He was starting to sport the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow, and was fighting a hangover, which made him look rougher than usual.

After spending hours at the graveyard the previous evening, he had found a bar and had gotten hammered, as a man was prone to doing when intense, unresolved grief mixed with heavy guilt and the constant threat of his imminent death. Vegeta had crawled into the back of his van afterwards, where he had passed out among his rifles and his ammunition and other gear, his only sources of comfort these days. He had slept all morning and well into the afternoon, giving in to an exhaustion that only seemed to be getting worse as the days passed. Coffee barely helped, but it was better than nothing.

Vegeta stared out from the window to the building where his apartment was while he took a sip of coffee. He had seen no unusual activity near the building, but had seen enough to know that his elderly landlady was gone, for she always liked sitting by the window at this hour while she knitted. Her son had clearly heeded his warning, which was good. After all, Vegeta may have been a murderous vigilante, but he wasn't a complete monster; he had a code, and an elderly woman did not fall into that. She did not deserve to die any more than his brother and mother had, and he was grateful for not having that concern hanging over his head.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, not for the first time questioning whether he should go back inside at all. His basement studio apartment did not have much – the majority of his arsenal of weaponry he kept in a storage unit, a collection he had amassed under Frieza's nose before he was legally old enough to drive under one of his various aliases. There had been no big purpose back then, except that guns of all kinds had fascinated him as a child, and he had never outgrown that. He kept a decent fraction of his supply in his van, and had the least amount in the apartment. The apartment was more for the tactical radios and the gear that let him eavesdrop on his listening bugs.

Still, none of that mattered to him. Those things were not the reason why he was parked where he was, eyes trained on the building he lived in. Sure, it was annoying to lose his tactical radios and the listening bug in Bulma's apartment, but the police were no longer his primary concern. With Frieza's men now potentially knowing who he was, they had to be the priority. He had to start thinking defensively now. The police were still floundering, and though he was sure they would eventually catch up, his hope was to be long gone before they did – ideally with Frieza wearing a bullet in his skull before he booked it and went officially on the run.

Vegeta removed his shades as it got darker outside. No, he was only coming back for the pictures. He wanted the pictures of his mother and brother – that was it, and that was all. Even though his better judgment warned against it, this whole insanity was driven by raw emotion. He had lost enough to Frieza; he would be damned to lose anything else.

Finally, it was night, and Vegeta felt himself come alive as he sat up in his seat, his exhaustion falling to the background as his senses sharpened. Imminent action, the promise of violence, the threat of death – these things may have raised adrenaline in other men, but they had always calmed and steadied him. There was a reason why he had earned several medals for combat valor from the Marines before his discharge; the more dangerous the situation, the more at home he was.

Vegeta started up the van, then drove around to the back alley where he parked further back than he usually did. He got out and then suited up: two loaded handguns, one behind his jeans and one inside a holster above his ankle. His lucky blade on the inside of his black leather jacket, body armor underneath. Finally, his favorite rifle. After making sure all weapons were loaded – this time, everything was lethal – he quietly closed the door and locked his van, while he silently made his way around the back of the building. There were other homes near but not close enough to concern him; plus the unruly backyard of his land lady gave him perfect cover, especially in the darkness.

Vegeta descended the concrete steps moments later towards the entrance of his basement apartment, his rifle extended in front of him, his hands rock steady. He finally lowered the rifle, squatting as he leaned his ear up against the door. He scowled as he strained to hear anything. The light was on inside – that was not promising. Reaching up, he gently tried the knob – it was unlocked.

A heartbeat later, Vegeta pushed the door open and immediately stepped in, sweeping his rifle around the apartment with a trained tactical efficiency. There was no one there. He quickly went over to the bathroom, scanning that small room, but that was empty as well. His scowl deepened, but he would take his breaks where he got them. Lowering his rifle, he went over towards his mattress on the floor and picked up a slew of pictures, taking his favorite one out of the frame, shoving them roughly into the back pocket of his jeans. He snatched up the ear piece for the listening bug in Bulma's apartment, then while he was at it, snatched up his last package of pop-tarts. He ripped it open with his teeth, practically devouring both pop-tarts in just a few bites – he had not eaten since leaving his therapist the day before. The radios would have to be abandoned, they were too heavy to take out easily.

Vegeta finally made his way to the door to leave, when he paused. His eyes immediately shot upwards towards the ceiling as he instinctively lifted his rifle towards that direction. He stayed silent for some long moments, holding his position, before he heard something again.

_Footsteps._

He hesitated, briefly torn for a fleeting second – he could leave, or he could go investigate. But beyond wanting revenge on Frieza, he wanted to devastate him as much as possible by killing as many of his men as he could. Plus, were they staking out her apartment in hopes that _she_ would return, so they could beat her or kill her for information? The thought alone filled him with rage. The men for Frieza had no code, which made them animals, which meant he had to put them down.

Vegeta quietly turned off the lights to his apartment, closed the door behind him, and silently maneuvered his way up the back steps until he was slowly coming up on the back porch entrance to her apartment. Vegeta paused once again at the door; he could hear the TV on inside. Further proof that this was not his landlady, for she was always sleeping by this time. He hesitated though – could it be her son, house sitting? The thought made him reach into his jacket pocket, where he pulled out his cell phone. Going through an encrypted app, Vegeta dialed her number, and then brought the phone up to his ear while he waited.

He heard the phone faintly ringing inside. There was some aggravated grumbling from some men inside, and then someone answered.

He recognized the voice on the other end; it was not her son, it was Dodoria. "You got the wrong numb-"

Vegeta viciously kicked in the back door before the word was complete. He instantly shot both men who were sitting at the kitchen table in the head as they stood up, killing them on the spot. Without hesitating and before they had even fallen, he moved through the kitchen as he heard chaos in the living room.

Vegeta briefly swept his rifle as he passed an open bedroom, making sure no one was hiding in there, when someone rushed him from the side with their own rifle. Vegeta turned and raised his own rifle horizontally to defend himself, then kicked the other man as hard as he could in the chest. He looked up then and saw two other men aiming their guns right at him, and he dove into the bedroom right before they opened fire.

He quickly scrambled up, moving next to the bedroom door. He only had to wait a second before the first man ran through the door, catching an immediate bullet to the skull from Vegeta. He waited for the others to come, but for several long seconds there was only silence, and the sound of his own heart ringing in his ears.

Vegeta was wondering if they were going to run, when a cascade of bullets started flying through the wall of the bedroom in his direction. Vegeta dove down to the floor to shield himself from the flying bullets, exploding plaster, and flying pieces of shattered wood, and then the other two were upon him.

Vegeta forced himself up to his knees right as a gun was pointed in his face – he instantly seized it, twisting the hand hard enough to break it before the bullet was fired to the side. He then twisted the man's hand around with raw strength until the gun was pointing back into its owner's face, and fired. The assailant dropped dead on the spot.

 _One more,_ Vegeta counted, turning back to the last man – he had caught enough flashes of him to recognize him as Dodoria. However, no sooner did he turn after forcing the other goon to shoot himself in the face, than Dodoria swung a metal baseball bat right into Vegeta's chest. Vegeta hissed in pain – his body armor was designed more for bullets, and he was still sore from Goku shooting him two nights ago. He barely was able to get a hand up before Dodoria fiercely swung the bat again, this time aiming right at his head.

Vegeta was able to absorb some of the blow with his forearm – enough so it would not instantly kill him, but not enough to prevent the explosion of pain that ruptured in his skull as Dodoria smashed his metal bat right against his temple. Too dazed to even make a sound in pain from the blow, Vegeta dropped his rifle as he fell to the floor on his stomach from the shot, fighting the overwhelming darkness tainting his vision while the room blurred around him. He could vaguely feel an alarming amount of warm blood in his hair and running down his face.

"Bastard," Dodoria seethed, circling the fallen man. "You always did think you were too good for us, didn't you? Well, this is what you get now, you son of a bitch. Frieza wants you alive, but I'm just gonna have to tell him I had no choice. You remember how much I love my bat, don't you, Vegeta? I'm going to love it more when I use it to bash your brains in."

Vegeta valiantly forced himself slowly up to his hands and knees. He rapidly shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of the blow, his arms shaking from the effort. He reached behind him weakly to retrieve his handgun, when Dodoria hit him hard with the bat, this time across his back. Vegeta dropped again, this time shouting in agony as the pain ripped through his spine.

"You should have just shut up and taken it when Frieza killed your brother. Gone away and licked your wounds, lived out your miserable life. But no, you couldn't do that, could you?" Dodoria demanded. Vegeta grunted weakly, the words barely registering. Dodoria could practically smell the promotion that awaited him as he mounted Vegeta from behind, straddling his lower back. "This will be better than bashing you to bits. That's too easy of a way for you to go. Now, you're gonna pay! It was nice knowing you, Vegeta!" he laughed.

With that, Dodoria slipped his bat under Vegeta's chin, and then gripped both ends of it as he pulled back hard. Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut in pain as he felt himself being painfully strangled while he was forced to arch back.

Just as his vision was darkening again, a memory flashed…

" _So when am I gonna meet this girl?" Vegeta asked while he got a cold bottle of beer out of the fridge._

" _Why, so you can scare her away like the rest?"_

_Vegeta scoffed, looking annoyed. "If I have scared anyone away, then they deserved it. Besides, I think I have the right to know who my kid brother is dating."_

_Tarble chuckled. "Yeah, you'll meet her soon. We are still getting to know each other. I'm taking her to the movies tonight."_

_Vegeta grunted, leaning back against the counter as he watched his brother scurry around the living room. He took a swig of his beer while Tarble grew more agitated, lifting up the cushions of the sofa. "What are you looking for?" he finally asked._

" _I can't find my keys!" Tarble exclaimed in frustration, making his older brother roll his eyes._

" _For some rockstar soon-to-be med school student, you really are scatterbrained, Tarble. They're right here on the counter," Vegeta informed him, raising the keys in question and jiggling them obnoxiously as he showed them to Tarble._

_Tarble flashed him a smile of relief. "Thanks!" he said, jogging over to snatch the keys from his brother._

" _Don't forget the condoms," Vegeta drawled, before leaning his head back and laughing at the appalled look Tarble gave him. Compared to him, Tarble had been quite sheltered, and it was just so easy to get a rise out of him that Vegeta couldn't resist._

" _Vegeta!" Tarble yelled, in the pseudo little brother whine that Vegeta still managed to get out of him sometimes. Vegeta just laughed more. "That's my potential GIRLFRIEND you're talking about!"_

_Vegeta smirked, shrugging with indifference. "Call her what you want, kid, just wrap sure you keep it wrapped. I'm not interested in being an uncle just yet, got it?"_

_Tarble reddened in embarrassment, "Vegeta, I am not a little kid anymore-"_

_He was cut off by Vegeta smacking him in the back of the head, knocking his ball cap off his head. Tarble awkwardly managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. "Better get out of here, college boy, or you're going to be late. I don't date, and even I know that you don't want to keep a woman waiting."_

" _Yeah, yeah, I'll see you later."_

" _Text me when you're on the way home."_

" _Will do!" Tarble called back, practically running out of the door. Vegeta turned away to kick his feet up on the sofa and relax for a while, blissfully unaware that it was the last time he would ever see his brother alive…_

 _Tarble._ The images faded and Vegeta cracked his eyes open, blinding pain in his head welcoming him back to the current situation, along with his throat and chest which were on fire as Dodoria strangled the life out of him, if his back wasn't broken first. He owed it to his family to fight. He could not let them down, he could not allow Dodoria to kill him like this, strangled there on the floor like he was trash. Not now, not fucking EVER.

With the dogged discipline that had literally saved his life in countless dangerous special ops missions as a Marine, Vegeta forced himself not to panic so he could think. He only had precious seconds before he passed out from the strangulation, and then he would be killed shortly afterwards. He tried to get leverage, but Dodoria was a big bastard and was sitting right on Vegeta's lower back.

That is when Vegeta noticed that Dodoria was lazy, he was literally sitting on his lower back instead of being on his knees. Vegeta noticed Dodoria's feet on either side of him, and without hesitating, he quickly slid one hand over his chest and inside of his jacket where he retrieved and unsheathed his lucky blade. With all his remaining strength, he drove the knife right into Dodoria's ankle, burying it to the hilt.

Dodoria immediately howled in agony and got off Vegeta, abandoning the bat and blissfully relieving the excruciating pressure on Vegeta's throat. Vegeta's head dropped back to the floor as he took in hard and painful breaths. Dodoria was rolling around, continuing his shrieking, giving him precious time to recover. Vegeta took a moment, and then forced himself slowly back up to his hands and knees once more, shaking his head roughly as he did.

"You son of a bitch! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Dodoria screamed, useless as he clutched his ankle. He tried grabbing onto the handle of the blade to pull it out, but only screamed louder. "I'm going to kill you-!"

He was silenced by Vegeta pulling out his handgun from the back of his jeans and firing a shot right into his forehead. Dodoria crumpled back, eyes still open in rage.

Vegeta waited a few seconds, panting heavily, just in case another threat emerged. When nothing happened, he dropped his gun and collapsed onto his back. He was fighting against passing out, his body practically demanding it, but someone might have called this in if the gunshots were heard outside. He allowed himself a few seconds to rest, and then forced himself to sit back up, lest he fall unconscious before he could get the hell out of there. He had to get back to his van and put distance there, and only then would he allow himself to crawl to the back of the van again and pass out. Until then, he _had_ to fight.

It felt like hours to him before he finally managed to get back onto his feet. His body was uncoordinated, his head spinning as blood kept pouring down his face. Vegeta staggered his way into the bathroom, and with shaking hands, turned on the faucet to splash some cold water on his face. He looked up in the mirror and grimaced – that bat had done a number on him. Almost half his face was a bloodied and bruised mess. He briefly touched near his temple, and then winced.

Grunting, he used the walls to help him stagger out of the bathroom and keep his balance, squinting as he forced himself to move. He was going back toward the kitchen, wondering how he was going to manage going down the stairs, when he heard a phone ring.

Vegeta paused at the sound. He then turned his hazy gaze back towards the bedroom, which looked like a damn war zone. He entered, and realized that the ringing was coming from Dodoria. Good thing too – he had forgotten to remove his favorite blade from the asshole's ankle.

Vegeta dropped onto his knees next to the fallen lieutenant. He patted Dodoria's pockets and found the phone, then took it out, squinting at it. The number was blocked. He answered it.

"Dodoria's phone," he growled through heavy breathing, while he yanked his lucky blade free from the ankle.

"Well, you sure are resilient aren't you, Vegeta?"

Vegeta paused, and his pain was momentarily sidelined to his hatred and rage. "Come out from the shadows and find out, Frieza," Vegeta snarled hatefully.

"It didn't have to be this way, dear boy. You just keep bringing more and more pain upon yourself."

"You can't hurt me anymore, fucking son of a bitch," Vegeta seethed. "I am going to KILL you with my fucking bare hands! I don't have anything to lose anymore!"

Frieza chuckled. "Oh, that's where you're dead wrong, Vegeta. You still have something precious to lose, and you will."

Vegeta looked confused for a moment, but he couldn't respond before the call ended. He put the phone in his own pocket, planning to discard it later, and then forced himself to get out of there as he grabbed his weapons. All the while, a feeling of dread began rising through his chest that he couldn't shake.

Meanwhile, on the other side of West City, Goku stepped out of his home, whistling as he headed to the back alley. He was barefoot in a white tank top and loose pajama pants while carrying two stuffed trash bags in one hand. He made his way through his backyard then stepped out into the alley, continuing to whistle as he went over to the trash bins. He frowned, looking down at the bags in his grasp, trying to remember which one Chi-Chi had said was recycling. He ducked down to open one of the bags to take a peek.

As soon as he did, a gunshot went off, a bullet flying and missing him due to him ducking down. Goku whirled around and fell back sitting down, his hand immediately going to his ankle holster under his pajama pants. He pulled out his gun and fired back at what only looked like shadows. The assailants seemed startled by the return fire and began retreating as both sides kept shooting.

Goku winced, feeling two jarring white-hot bullets tearing into him, his mouth almost instantly filling with blood. He fell to his side on the concrete, weakly able to get off one more shot as the assailants ran away, laughing and shouting back at him that Frieza said hello.

After they were gone, Goku dropped his gun as he reached down and gingerly touched his mid-torso. When he pulled his hand back, it was soaked in blood. He barely heard Chi-Chi screaming his name as she ran out of the home in his direction, before the darkness overwhelmed him and the pain was no more.


	7. When the Blinders Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm in a zone for this fic so best to take advantage of the inspiration right? Thank you guys for the support, and I hope you enjoy.

Later that night, sitting in the back of his van in a parking lot for an abandoned gas station, Vegeta squinted at his phone as he checked his text messages. Uneasy with Frieza's cryptic threat, he had reached out to Nappa, Raditz, and Goku to check on their locations. Nappa had responded saying he was out of town, and Raditz replied saying he was at home.

Goku had yet to reply. Vegeta scowled, wondering if he was working the night shift, but his head was hurting too much to think beyond that.

Lowering his phone, he looked at himself in the small mirror he had stashed with his medical supplies. He had stripped out of his shirt and body armor to clean the blood and examine all the damage, but at the end of the day, it was the head injury that demanded his attention. He had a hand holding a white rag on his head – when he lowered the rag, it was soaked in blood. Vegeta winced as he leaned in closer to the mirror to examine the wound above his temple that ran into his hair, the one Dodoria had caused with his bat. He knew from experience that he definitely had a concussion, but he also needed stitches to close the wound, lest he have bigger problems later.

As he slowly – very slowly, as his hands were unsteady – worked on stitching himself up, Vegeta's eyes would occasionally drift to his cell phone, which had yet to go off with Goku's responding text message. A thought briefly ran through Vegeta's mind: maybe Goku was angry with him over their exchange at the graveyard the previous night? He let that one go; it wasn't Goku's style.

It took an enormous effort, but finally, his stitches were complete. He examined himself in the mirror, frowning as he did. It was not his best stitching work, and he would probably have a scar over his temple, but he would live.

Vegeta threw his supplies into his small medical box and shoved it aside, then picked up the bloody rag again, bringing it back to his head. He gingerly laid down on his back, as he had stripped the entire backseat out of the van weeks ago. His eyes were unbelievably heavy as he picked up his cell phone again. He squinted at the thread he had with Goku. Still no response.

His head spinning, Vegeta put the phone on his chest so it could wake him, draped the rag over the wound on his head, and then finally closed his eyes. He passed out cold in seconds, never hearing the police sirens shooting past the parking lot moments later.

He also didn't rouse when after a few minutes, his cell phone vibrated on his chest with several text messages.

* * *

Bulma peered up at the building where the latest violence had taken place, puzzlement in her blue eyes. This area was residential and not the usual place the vigilante struck; plus, it was only a mile from her own apartment, which made her mildly uncomfortable. But, business was business, and if the vigilante was working again, then so was she.

She approached the building as the uniformed officer that had called her to the scene, John, quickly came over.

"Detective, glad you're here," John said as he fell into step with her. With shaggy blonde hair under his uniform hat and a clean shave, he looked his age, like the young kid barely out of college that he was. "This one's a doozy."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as they walked together. Krillin would have usually tagged along, but they had been working together at the precinct late into the night running cross checks to try to narrow down the identity of the vigilante. She had decided she would check out the latest crime scene on her own and leave him to continue their work, but she did wish she was dealing with him instead of this rookie.

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "Alright then, what have we got?"

"We got the call half an hour ago, gunshots fired, all in this building. There are two apartments, and we have five bodies upstairs in the main apartment. We have already ID'd one of the men as having ties with Frieza. His name was Dodoria."

"Dodoria!" Bulma exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. "He's high up for Frieza. You sure that's him dead in there?"

"Yep, definitely him. He took a bullet to the head, and a knife to the ankle. Looks like a war went down in there. Has to be the vigilante, so Chief said to bring you in as you're on the case."

"Who do the apartments belong to?"

"Some lady named…" he paused, and then nervously pulled out a small notepad as Bulma scowled at him. "Ah. Gertrude Smith. We are trying to get ahold of her, but no luck yet. She owns the whole building, and it looks like she lived in the top apartment, and was renting out the other. But, it's the basement studio apartment that you're gonna want to see," he told her excitedly as he rounded the back of the building, with her on his heels.

"Why? Did anything happen down here?" Bulma demanded as they descended down the concrete steps. She was mildly annoyed, as everyone else was congregating in the upstairs apartment where the bodies were, and she did not know this rookie cop well enough to gauge his judgment.

"Nope, but I think you'll be interested anyway," John said with a grin as he walked into the apartment.

Bulma followed, and for a moment, did not notice anything of interest. On the surface, it looked like a barebones studio apartment. However, after just a couple of seconds, she was intrigued by just _how_ barebones it was, like whoever lived there had purposefully not allowed themselves to get too settled in. Not only that, but she was catching a faint whiff of a scent that somehow felt awfully familiar.

All her thoughts came to a screeching halt though when she stepped further inside and caught sight of the rifles and ammunition. Her eyes swept to the other side of the room, where she saw tactical radio equipment, and she could feel her heart start to race.

Her mouth practically watered as she immediately went over and squatted down next to the radios. She pulled out latex gloves to cover her hands, then turned on a radio. She played with the frequencies, and they both suddenly heard the tactical frequency the police liked to use come through which reported on live calls and situations unfolding.

"Oh my God," she muttered to herself, slowly turning to look at the room with burning interest and growing excitement. "This is his apartment!"

"Yep," John replied, hands settled on his belt, chest puffed out in pride. Bulma eagerly went over to the rifles to examine them – they were all military grade, and one was a beanbag shotgun. She squatted down, examining without touching, looking like a kid in a toy store. "Yep, I might have the makings of a detective myself. Ya know, being the one who found the vigilante's apartment and all-"

"Take the ego down a notch, kid," Bulma replied, not even bothering to look back at him. John looked deflated behind her as she ordered, "Call in backup, I want this apartment swept for prints and evidence. I want that lady found too, so we can get the name of this guy who was renting this apartment, got it?" she said as she stood up, genuine excitement pulsing through her.

John's shoulders fell a little, but he went to do as she asked, though she was not paying him any attention. There was a story there in the apartment, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. Her cell phone rang then, but she silenced it as she wandered into the bathroom to take a quick scan.

She picked up that faint scent again, familiar somehow, and her nose crinkled up – she was still unable to place it. It was like an aftershave, one that smelled distinctly masculine, but it was too faint for her to place.

Bulma let out a loud sound of exasperation when her cell phone rang again. This time, she took it out, saw it was Krillin, and answered it.

"We got his apartment, Krillin!" Bulma exclaimed immediately upon answering the phone, leaving the bathroom and going over to the mattress nearby. She bit her bottom lip when she saw an empty picture frame. "I got a lot of work to do here, but I'll give you the run down when I'm done-"

"Bulma," Krillin interjected. Something about his grim tone made her pause. "Chi-Chi called here. It's Goku…"

* * *

It was hours later that Vegeta finally stirred, thanks to some distant car alarm going off combined with his cell phone vibrating on his chest. He groaned low, before reaching up to remove the bloodied rag from his face. He gingerly felt the side of his face, which had dried blood on it. Groggy, he slowly lifted himself up so he was sitting up, wincing as he did. Dodoria had bruised him up good with the bat, and he was hellaciously sore.

Vegeta roughly shook his head to focus, blinking a few times as his cell phone vibrated. He picked it up immediately, hoping it was a message from Goku…only for his stomach to drop at the missed messages he had from Raditz.

_V: Just checking in. Where are you?  
R: I'm at home. Why, what's up?  
R: Hey, call me right away. It's an emergency.  
R: It's Goku.  
R: Need you to call me ASAP, or pick up my calls.  
R: Hey, I'm trying to get a hold of you, but you're not messaging me back, and you're not picking up the phone.  
R: Where the hell are you?  
R: Well I didn't want to tell you in a text, but my brother got shot tonight. He's in the hospital and is in surgery. It doesn't look great right now.  
R: We're at West City Metro Hospital, if you want to come. Just call me and I'll come down to get you._

Vegeta lowered the phone, feeling a cold wave wash over him, his mouth dropped in shock and dismay. He was still for a stretch of time, his mind reeling.

Suddenly, his patience snapped; in a rage, Vegeta hurled the phone against the inside side wall of the van, with so much force that it shattered. He practically kicked the back doors clean off, climbing out the back and into the darkness. Turning around, he quickly slipped on his bloodied shirt, and then his leather jacket, not even bothering with the body armor. He gripped one of his rifles, mad with fury as his mind was overwhelmed with the need for vengeance.

Instead of taking the rifle out though, his hand just maintained a tight grip on it. He was almost panting, his heart feeling like it was going to explode from how hard it was hammering in his chest. His hand tightened on the rifle as he lowered his head, trying to take deep breaths to calm down before he had a panic attack. It was enough for the rage to simmer, and the guilt to rise up until it felt like it was strangling him as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck!" Vegeta practically screamed, finally letting go of the rifle. He slammed the doors shut hard and then stalked over to the driver side, climbing in and slamming the door behind him. His hand was shaking as he turned on the van.

He then pulled out of the lot, and headed towards the hospital.

* * *

There weren't many things that would have pulled Bulma from the biggest break she'd gotten on the vigilante case, but Goku being shot was definitely one of them.

It was past 2 in the morning before Goku was finally out of surgery. He had been shot once in the stomach and once in the chest, and neither bullet had gone all the way through. Bulma sat in the waiting room, trying to offer Chi-Chi and Raditz as much moral support as she could. Eventually, the surgeon had come out to give them a status update that Goku's surgery was done. They were told that his condition was still critical but stable, which relieved Bulma and Raditz, but only made Chi-Chi's crying worse. When Chi-Chi was offered the chance to go see him, she was gone in a flash, leaving Bulma with Raditz and the other police officers that had come in to show their support for Goku.

Krillin came over several minutes later from getting them some food, and took a seat next to Bulma. Raditz was sitting across from them in the waiting area, looking tense, one knee bouncing as he fidgeted. Krillin observed him for a moment; he was close friends with Goku, but his older brother was very reserved and difficult to get to know. Still, he empathized. Krillin tossed Bulma a wrapped sandwich, then extended the bag to Raditz to offer him one. Raditz looked surprised, but then he frowned and shook his head, lowering his gaze to his cell phone. Bulma and Krillin had both noticed he was doing a lot of that, as though checking for a text message. It must not have come though, because he quickly looked away, frown deepening.

"Good thing Chi-Chi's dad could watch Gohan tonight, huh?" Krillin said aloud, trying to break the tense silence.

"This is definitely no place for a kid," Bulma agreed, as they both unwrapped their sandwiches.

"Goku will be fine though," Krillin asserted in full confidence, chewing through a mouthful of food. "He's tough as hell. I bet he'll be up and at it by the end of the week, right, Bulma?"

Bulma gave him a small smile. She was also close to Goku and Chi-Chi, and considered them good friends. "Yeah, I'm sure of it. Goku won't be taken down this easily," she said, before taking a bite of the sandwich.

Raditz' phone started ringing then, and he immediately stood up and walked away to take the call. Krillin watched him go, before leaning in closer to Bulma and whispering to her.

"I'm close to finishing up the work you asked me to do. We should have it narrowed down soon who the vigilante is, especially if we can get a hit with whoever was renting that apartment you found."

"Good. We'll probably pick it up in the morning, I think," Bulma sighed. "The vigilante has never hit more than once in a night, and we can't burn out, so we should get some sleep tonight. Though with what happened to Goku, well, Chief wants us all in body armor and armed if we're outside, until this all blows over."

"Well hopefully it blows over soon."

"It will," she affirmed, her blue eyes confident. "We're close now. I can feel it."

Meanwhile, Raditz was descending the stairs to the ground floor. He walked until he came out of the front entrance into the cool night air. He didn't have to look far before he found the man he was looking for, leaning up against the wall off to the side, smoking a cigarette. Raditz tightened his jacket around himself, scowling, and headed over.

"Took you long enough," Raditz peevishly said, glaring down at the smaller man. He blinked in surprise when he finally got a good look at him. Vegeta was wearing a baseball cap, but what got Raditz' attention was the hint of dried blood and noticeable bruising that stretched around the side of his face.

"How is he?" Vegeta gruffly demanded, bringing his cigarette up for a draw. It was only then that Raditz noticed the dried blood on his fingers.

"Well, he's in the ICU right now, recovering from surgery. He's stable for now," Raditz answered. Vegeta exhaled the smoke through his nose, looking down as he grunted, prompting Raditz to ask, "Are you okay? You look like hell."

Vegeta hesitated a moment in answering, kicking a little at the ground. Finally, he shrugged. "I got mugged tonight," he answered nonchalantly.

Raditz' eyes widened. "What? Geez, what the hell is going on tonight? You need someone to check you out?"

Vegeta looked up and to the side, raising his cigarette again for another long draw before he replied. "No, I'm good…so, can I see him, or is that going to cause some kind of problem?"

Raditz knew without asking that he was referring to Chi-Chi, who had never gotten along with him. He tilted his head thoughtfully, before saying, "Come on up. I think I'll take my sister-in-law for a walk so she can breathe a little." Raditz frowned as he looked Vegeta over. "We'll stop in a bathroom first though so you can clean up. That blood is going to get you the wrong kinds of questions with all those nosy cops upstairs."

Vegeta immediately froze. "Cops?"

"Yeah, some of the people that he works with. They're fine, a little annoying with their support, but it's good for Chi-Chi I suppose," Raditz explained. He walked over to the main entrance to the hospital, then looked back in surprise when he realized Vegeta wasn't following him. He looked at him expectantly. "You coming or what?"

Vegeta hesitated for some long moments. Finally though, he dropped his cigarette and put it out with his black boot. Fuck it; he wanted to see Goku. He owed him that much, since he was the reason he was in the hospital to begin with. Besides, the guilt would drown him alive if he walked away and his friend passed away during the night; he did not think he could handle that.

He hesitated only a moment longer, before following in after Raditz.

Meanwhile, Bulma was texting with the rookie John who was still on the scene of the vigilante's violence earlier that night, bombarding him with questions. Krillin had taken his leave, tapped out for the night, but promising to come back early the next morning to visit Goku before he went to work. Several of the officers were starting to leave – visiting Goku in his room was restricted to family only, and it was getting late. Still, Bulma stayed, wanting to at least catch Chi-Chi or Raditz one last time to offer them some support before she called it a night too.

Raditz walked back into the waiting area, and then down the hall and through the doors towards his brother's room. He looked like he had no interest in engaging with any of the cops, but she did not blame him for that, figuring he was stressed about his brother. Bulma sighed, figuring that it may be time to leave, when someone else came into the waiting area that immediately caught her eye.

Bulma couldn't see the man's face – his face was masked with shadows from his baseball cap with only parts of a five o'clock shadow visible. He had his hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket as he kept his eyes down. He was trying to remain undetected amidst the cops that were lingering as he leaned back against the wall, and to his credit, no one else noticed him.

No one, that is, except for her.

Vegeta reached up to rub his eyes which were aching, when his hand froze as someone came to stand directly in front of him. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and then exhaled. He had taken the risk, so he slowly raised his head, his dark eyes settling on her blue ones.

"Vegeta! What-" Bulma started, and then her words died when she saw the bruises on his face. At once, her expression changed from accusing to worried. His nose twitched at that, and he looked away, inadvertently giving her a better view of the remnants of Dodoria's damage. "Holy crap, what happened to you?" she asked with concern.

"I'm fine," Vegeta answered curtly. Bulma frowned at him in disapproval, and then went to ask another question, when he raised a hand to stop her. "I'm just here as a visitor. I _did_ tell you I knew someone on the force."

"Goku?" she asked in bewilderment. He nodded once, his whole body tense. He could practically feel her stare searing into his skin, and he felt oddly exposed. It felt like if she continued staring, she would be able to read the truth all over his face, and he would soon find himself arrested. He wasn't sure if it was his current guilt or his concussion, but at the moment, he didn't much care either way.

"What?" Bulma asked with a huff, and he felt her stare intensifying. "But – I asked him – oh, that jerk, I used your fake name and so he probably thought he was slick when he said he didn't know you! Wait til he gets better, he's gonna hear it from me." Despite himself, Vegeta snickered a little in amusement, looking down. "How do you know him?" she pressed.

He shrugged. "Served together."

"Ah, yes, makes sense," Bulma nodded in understanding, when the doors opened and Raditz and Chi-Chi emerged. Chi-Chi went over to the last remaining police officers as Raditz settled his gaze on Bulma and Vegeta. His gaze was curious initially, and then seemed to lighten with understanding as he remembered what Goku had told him about those two.

"We're going to give these guys an update, then check in to see how Gohan is doing, then we're going to take a short walk…if you two want to go in, I'll give you guys time with him," Raditz nonchalantly said, nodding to Vegeta once, who nodded back.

"What? But I thought it was family only-" Bulma's words died when Vegeta just walked away, going through the doors.

"Don't worry. The Marines made those two brothers," Raditz told her with a small smirk. "Why do you think I was trying to get that asshole over here? Anyway, you should probably go with him. He was mugged tonight, so maybe you can keep an eye on him," he suggested.

"What- Vegeta was mugged?" Bulma sputtered, overwhelmed with all the new information, but Raditz just walked away, back over to his sister-in-law.

Bulma looked back in the direction Vegeta had gone, her mind whirling. She only hesitated for a moment, before going after him.

Vegeta was standing at the foot of Goku's bed when Bulma walked in. He didn't acknowledge her presence, so she quietly came up to stand next to him, wrapping her arms around herself. They both stared down at Goku, who was lying unconscious in a mess of bandages, electrodes, tons of cables, and a breathing mask. His heartbeat was steady, the only sound in the hospital room. Bulma felt her stomach drop at the sight of him, much like it had when she got the initial phone call. He looked so frail and defenseless; it was so unnatural for him.

Bulma looked at Vegeta out of the corner of her eye. Though he looked stoic, there was an almost tangible anger radiating from him. She turned to him more now, seeing that he was grinding his teeth together as he stared at Goku.

"He'll be okay," she gently said, breaking the silence.

He barely heard her as a memory flashed through his mind of Tarble, riddled in bullets, and covered in blood. Vegeta grimaced and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut as he brought the heel of one hand to his temple. He swallowed hard, focusing on his breath which was coming faster as his heartrate sped up. The memories and images of Tarble, combined with the current state of Goku along with the knowledge that it was entirely HIS fault – it was all threatening him with a panic attack.

He was just about to turn around and leave to get fresh air, when Bulma took his hand in her warm one, jarring him out of his thoughts with the gentle maneuver. Vegeta looked back at her in open surprise as she moved closer to him.

"You'll be okay too," Bulma quietly said, remembering that his brother had been killed recently. That, along with his apparent mugging, plus Goku being shot, was probably a lot to handle. She squeezed his hand in comfort, giving him a small smile.

Vegeta swallowed at her words, his stare solely trained on her. She was almost single-handedly grounding him. This was a good woman, he reminded himself; someone who had no idea what kind of monster he was, and who would hate him if she did. He didn't deserve to even be in the same room with her, but damn if her hand didn't fit perfectly in his.

Without thinking about it, he interlaced their fingers together, and squeezed her hand back.

Vegeta let his gaze linger on her for a few more seconds, before looking back at Goku. Bulma kept her eyes on him though as she studied his profile, her blue eyes going to the fresh stitches that looked haphazardly done on his temple that ran up into his hair under his ballcap. He seemed calmer now, but upon seeing the cloudiness and exhaustion in his eyes, her concern bubbled back up.

"Did you see a doctor after the mugging? I'm also assuming you reported it to the police."

Vegeta shrugged and grumbled, "It's just a concussion."

"What? Geez, bunch of assholes out there these days, I fucking swear. Shooting a decent cop, mugging an innocent guy," Bulma growled in disgust. Vegeta looked away, his guilt flaring as she turned her attention to him again. "Well, do you live with anyone, that can keep an eye on you while you sleep tonight?"

"I live alone."

"Oh…well, you can come crash with me, if you want?" Bulma asked, earning a questioning look from him as he raised an eyebrow. She smiled, "No, not for _that._ You can crash on the sofa. It's not like you're a stranger anymore, right?"

Vegeta scowled, shifting his weight between his feet. "I appreciate the offer, but it's unnecessary. I've had several concussions before. The worst of it has already passed. I'll be fine come morning."

"Hm, yeah, that doesn't make me feel better," Bulma told him, her blue eyes examining him intensely. "I'm going to have to insist, because if you don't, I'm going to be worried. Though I guess if you give me your cell number, I can let you go and then I can check in with you in the morning? Pick your poison."

Vegeta quietly sighed. He was going to tell her that his phone was broken. It was the honest truth, as it was lying in pieces in the back of his van, an error in judgment that made him hunt for a pay phone to call Raditz downstairs. Still, it sure did sound like a bullshit lie, and he doubted she would believe him. He finally looked back at her, studying her as intensely as she was studying him.

The woman did something to him to calm the storm that had been raging inside him since his brother had died. Bulma had broken through his shield of simmering rage that night at the bar when no one else had been able to, taking his mind off his all-consuming vengeance for the first time. He had at first thought it was just the sex. But now, staring at her, he realized it was more. It was her presence, her warmth…her strength. He almost wished he could explore it more, just be a normal man pursuing a woman who interested him. But he knew that she would find out the truth soon, and then whatever warmth there was between them would be gone. This was as good as it was ever going to get.

Vegeta ran his thumb over her hand, and then nodded.

"Alright, I'll go with you," he muttered, figuring he'd swing back later for his van. "We should go before Raditz and Chi-Chi get back. She doesn't much like me."

"Sounds good. Chi-Chi will be with Goku during the night so he won't be alone, and we can visit later. Don't worry, we will get whoever did this." Vegeta scowled at her words, his gaze moving back over to Goku. Bulma noticed him hesitate, and then quietly added, "I'll go say my goodbyes and go to the car, you can come when you're ready. I'll be in the black sedan outside of the front entrance."

Vegeta said nothing to that, and so she let go of his hand and took her leave. He took a deep breath once he was alone, frowning as he stared at Goku. His eyes softened with regret, as his shoulders lost some tension.

"I never meant for this to happen to you. Kakarot…I'm sorry," Vegeta whispered, burying his hands in his pockets again. He paused as though expecting a response, but he only got the monitors beeping. He sighed, and turned towards the door. "Well, you have a kid waiting, so get better fast. I'll have this ended soon."

He then left as quietly as he had come in, and made his way downstairs.

* * *

The elevator ride up to Bulma's apartment was quiet and felt unusually long. Bulma kept her eyes on the number above the door showing what floor they were on – honestly, how long did it take to go up three stories? She tried looking over at Vegeta through her peripheral vision, but he was leaning against the opposite side of the elevator. The car ride had been uneventful; she hadn't even pulled out of the parking lot before Vegeta was sound asleep next to her in the passenger seat. It was good though, because it allowed him to rest and her to think, mostly of how ironic it was that they had crossed paths again.

Not that she was complaining. She had at first thought her attraction to him was just a purely physical thing, a rebound after her breakup with Yamcha. The one night stand was hot; his intensity had translated over quite well in the bedroom. But it had been nothing to dwell over beyond that.

But then, she had talked to him at the police station, and again this evening. She liked that he was quiet, as it seemed to give his words more weight when he did speak. In this manner, Vegeta was the complete opposite of Yamcha, who always felt compelled to fill in silence with rambling. It was a feature that irritated her. Her job was demanding, extremely stressful, and oftentimes dangerous. Sometimes, she needed the silence, but Yamcha had always taken that personally.

This was not the case with Vegeta. He was not driven to fill any silence at all, and seemed more comfortable when less was said. This alone made her want to know more about the man who was not quite a stranger, but not quite a friend either. Plus, if Goku cared for him, then she knew that at his core, Vegeta must be a good person. This knowledge had also made it easier to extend him another invitation to her apartment. After all, Goku may have been polite to everyone, but that did not mean he was close friends with everyone. If Vegeta was good in Goku's book from a character perspective, then he was good in hers too.

 _Maybe he would be inclined to have a real date once this business with the vigilante is done,_ she mused as the elevator door finally opened. It was somewhat amusing that things were all out of order with Vegeta, in that they had slept together first, and had only engaged a couple more times, but now he was joining her again in her apartment as she pondered a first date with him in the future. It would be nice; she found Vegeta to be sinfully attractive, and he intrigued her, so why not? She was a confident woman who had no qualms about asking a man on a date. Plus she would need something new in her life anyway once the vigilante was behind bars.

Moments later, Bulma entered her apartment, with Vegeta close behind. She turned on the dim lights in the kitchen, and took a look at the clock. It was almost 4 in the morning. Out of instinct, she removed her badge and her gun, putting them on the counter.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she vanished into another portion of the apartment.

Vegeta stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets. He didn't know why he felt uncomfortable – he had been there before, after all. Maybe because now his presence was driven by concern instead of lust or a tactical purpose? He eyed her gun on the counter, taken aback by the show of trust she was giving him by leaving the weapon there, especially considering that he was still armed.

"I told you, I've been through this kind of thing before," he answered, trying not to sound annoyed. "I'm fine."

"Vegeta, you got assaulted tonight, enough that you needed stitches in your head and that you have a concussion. How did it even happen anyway?" Bulma demanded, emerging now with blankets and a pillow as she went over to the sofa. He watched as she began prepping the sofa for him to sleep there.

Vegeta frowned, thinking over his words, before settling on, "I was heading back to my apartment, and I got jumped. I don't know. It just happened."

"Things are dangerous right now in the city, you have to be careful."

"I can take care of myself."

Bulma sighed as she turned back to him. "Well, you should get some rest. Do you need anything?"

"I think I might need a smoke first, to clear my head." After all, his exhaustion had been slightly curbed by his impromptu nap on the way to her apartment. Vegeta looked past her, gesturing with his chin towards what looked like some fire escape out of the living room. "Is that spot any good?"

"Oh, definitely. Come on, follow me for the best view of West City."

Vegeta followed her closely as they went outside onto the fire escape. It was almost a little balcony made up of metal, with steps leading down just above the ground, and steps leading above to the higher apartments. She did have a decent view of the city from this vantage point – he could see the skyscrapers of the downtown area of West City clearly.

"Maybe I'll join you for a smoke," Bulma said, letting her hair down with a sigh.

"Not tired?" Vegeta asked, removing his ball cap and running his hand briefly through his upswept hair.

"I am, but I'm also still kind of wired. It's been quite a day. Plus with Goku in the hospital, I can use one."

He grunted as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered Bulma one, then felt the beginnings of a fire burning inside him when she perched the cigarette in her lips and stared at him expectantly. It was just like at the bar, except now, he knew what those lips could do. He took out his lighter and lit her cigarette while they kept eye contact the whole time. He was wondering if she would resist him if he plucked that cigarette back out and kissed her senseless – God, but she really did make him feel _reckless_ – when her blue eyes focused on his stitches.

"Geez, what rookie did this shitty job with your stitches?" she asked in disgust. Vegeta flinched a little when she reached up towards his head, but then he relaxed, letting her examine him closer while he lit his own cigarette.

"I'll live," he gruffly asserted. He turned his head away from her towards the view, but Bulma's hand lingered, gently touching him through his hair. Vegeta closed his eyes as he took a draw, telling himself it was the cigarette that was soothing him and not her touch, even as she started massaging his scalp. He couldn't help it and leaned his head towards her, into her touch. "So do you know what happened to Kakarot?" he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

"To who?"

"Ah, it was Goku's call sign, so it stuck. For me anyway."

"Oh," Bulma sighed, removing her hand from him and making Vegeta scowl. She looked towards the view with him, taking a draw from the cigarette. "Well," she breathed out, exhaling smoke into the night air. "I doubt it's random, with him being a cop and all. I'm not on the case, as I only work homicide, but the guy working on it says that some neighbors heard one of the shooters mention Frieza while running away."

Vegeta's scowl grew deeper as he patted the cigarette with one finger over the railing to get rid of the ash. He kept his rough voice as neutral as possible as he asked, "Are you all going to take Frieza down any time soon? He has been causing damage in this city for years."

"It's hard, we get leads, but then they vanish, and with all the corruption…" she sighed again. "And now we've got this vigilante problem. I'm sure you've heard about it."

Vegeta took a long draw before answering. "Ah, the vigilante. Sounds like an asshole if you ask me," he drawled.

Bulma couldn't help her laughter at his words. They were both leaning on their forearms on the metal rail of the fire escape, and he had the urge to get closer, especially when he heard her laugh. He turned his head towards her, watching how her eyes brightened with her laughter. She was mesmerizing, and he had the urge rise again from deep inside to kiss her as he unconsciously leaned in.

Bulma seemed then to notice his proximity, as she sobered from her laughter. Vegeta was only inches away – when had he gotten that close? – and she let out a shaky breath. His dark eyes were on her lips like a starving man, as he noticeably swallowed. He looked back up at her then, both of them gauging the other.

Bulma reached out her hand again to him, and this time, he didn't flinch as she touched his face, gently around his bruises. He had stubble now whereas before he had been clean shaven, but it only made him look more attractive.

Her touch was invitation enough. Vegeta turned fully towards her, dropping the cigarette in favor of putting an arm around her. Bulma's heart sped up then when he pulled her into a kiss. She almost melted against him, eagerly kissing him back, loving that despite his hard muscular frame, his lips were just as soft as she had remembered. Vegeta exhaled through his nose, pulling her closer against him while he deepened the kiss, exploring every inch of her warm mouth. It was just as good as before, as both of them forgot about the world around them.

Bulma breathlessly broke away, making him grunt as she leaned in to the side of his neck. She kissed him there, soft kisses that made him shudder as she breathed him in.

When she caught remnants of his lingering aftershave, however, she instantly froze.

Vegeta frowned in confusion when he felt her tense in his arms, slightly out of breath. "What?" he asked quietly, wondering if he had done something wrong.

"Nothing," Bulma responded, almost absent-mindedly, her mind suddenly clouded. A moment later, and she disengaged from him completely, turning towards the door, making him even more confused. "I think we should get some sleep. It's really late, I forgot the time, and you need to rest."

Vegeta blinked as she disappeared back into the apartment without waiting for him to respond. He turned back to the rail, bringing some fingers to his mouth, as though wondering if he had just dreamt that kiss.

Meanwhile, Bulma walked back over to her kitchen, snatched up the gun on the counter, and then went over into her bedroom where she closed the door. She paced relentlessly a few times, her heart pounding. Oh, those dark eyes of his that she could get lost in, filled with so much depth – they had blinded her. _He_ had blinded her.

 _Fuck,_ she thought angrily to herself as her mind furiously went through everything she knew. He had the military experience. He had the dark hair Cui had mentioned. His brother had been murdered. He had conveniently paid a visit to the police station the same day the vigilante assaulted it. He was wearing bruises like he'd fought for his life that night, the same night Dodoria and 4 other men were brutalized. None of that had made her truly see him for who he was.

No, it was the aftershave he used, the scent of leather and wood and smoke that was all man. She had breathed that into her memory when he'd been above her that one night, her face in his neck while she clung to him for dear life in the heat of passion. Vegeta had known she was a detective, and he had allowed them to fall into her bed that night anyway. It was a blissful memory, and the bastard had cemented himself there, making a fool out of her, making her incapable of seeing him objectively. In her mind, he had been playing her from the beginning, meaning that everything she felt between them had been a lie.

Well, no one made a fool out of Bulma Briefs.

Bulma pulled out her cell phone, and then swallowed when she saw the text message she had from John.

_Hi Det. Briefs – unable to contact landlady. Her son says she was renting the basement apt. in cash, some ex-Marine named Victor. We'll get more info in the morning._

She took a breath to steady her hands, then texted Krillin to send backup to her apartment right away.

Meanwhile, Vegeta was still perplexed, but decided maybe it was best to call it a night after all. His head was hurting too much to make sense out of women that night. He went back inside the apartment, eyeing the sofa which looked awfully inviting. Before he crashed though, he went to pour himself a glass of water, noting that Bulma was now in her bedroom. He frowned, not able to help his disappointment as he rounded the counter to hunt for a glass.

It was then that he suddenly noticed that her gun was no longer on the counter.

On the other side of the door to Bulma's bedroom, she quietly opened her drawer and grabbed more ammunition for her gun, just in case. She loaded the magazines on her belt from work that she was still wearing, biting her bottom lip as she strained her hearing. Finally, she picked up a pair of handcuffs she had in the drawer, clipping them on her belt. Raising her gun, she quietly approached the door.

Bulma turned the doorknob and pulled the door open normally, stepping back out of sight when she did.

"Vegeta?" she called out, trying to keep her voice calm even as she aimed her gun at the open doorway from the side. "Can you come over here for a second?" There was silence in response. "Vegeta?" she called again, willing her heart to stop racing.

A long stretch of silence passed. Bulma took a deep breath, and then stepped quickly out of the bedroom, scanning the apartment with her handgun. She instantly turned the gun to the sofa, arms stretched in front of her with the gun, but it had not been touched. She checked the kitchen, but no one was there. Finally, she ventured over to the fire escape – it was open, cool air coming into the apartment.

Vegeta was gone.


End file.
